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A LADY OF FRANCE 









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Lady Candace Charlston. 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


BY 

ELLA MADGE CONLY 


CHICAGO: 

HOMEWOOD PUBLISHING COMPANY 


PUBLISHERS 


LIBRARY ot CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 

DEC 1 I SOB 

CU$S ^ XXc. (to. 


Copyright, 1908, 

BY 

ELIvA MADGE CONEY 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


CHAPTER I 

‘‘Hear my prayer, oh Heaven, and grant me re- 
lief! The very thought of it overcomes me. Jeal- 
ousy, revenge, misunderstanding, grief from loss of 
my beloved husband! A multitude of woes! Oh! 
how can I bear it? Oh, thou Ruler of the Universe — 
God of all creation — great God of love — it is more 
than I can endure. Do Thou, in thy mercy, soothe my 
aching heart. Do Thou smite the tongues that add 
this agony of bitter pain to my already overcharged 
heart and brain.’’ 

Such was the tempest of words that poured forth 
from the lips of a sweet lady, lovely as a Hebe, who, 
overcome by sorrow and outraged pride, knelt in 
grief in the boudoir of her magnificent home. She 
presented a most beautiful picture. Clothed in deep- 
est mourning, she was pale from the outburst of grief 
and prayer, and her dark, soulful eyes were made un- 
usually bright by tears. Her lips, formed rather for 
smiles and kisses, were trembling with excitement ; her 
hair lay over her shoulders, a disheveled golden shower. 

She rises weak and feapful, a white hand resting 
across her heart as if to still its beating forever. She 
lifts her mournful, tear-stained eyes toward Heaven, 
as in close communion with the great God of love 
5 


6 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


whom she so piteously called to a moment before for 
aid and strength, when she felt that she was too weak 
and crushed to endure all alone and live. A half-sad 
smile flits across her pale, fair face, giving evidence 
that she has faith in God, and that she knows He will 
stretch forth the arm of love and compassion to a 
woman in sorrow. She stands and gazes mournfully 
out of the window overlooking the lawn. 

“Why am I so persecuted? I, who was loved so 
much, who thought the world so bright, so beautiful, 
so good to live in? When he whom I loved was 
taken to his eternal rest, I felt then I could not live 
on and endure it, but God in his mercy placed his 
hand on my aching heart and said: ‘Foolish heart, 
be still — it is only a few years, months or days, when 
I will take you too unto my haven of rest where 
parting will be no more.’ 

“A great gentleness came over me. I answered : 
‘Dear Lord, I will not rebel, but live in submission 
to Thy will;’ the — ah Heaven! how can I bear it and 
live? The ones I loved best plotting against me! 
Did I hear aright?” 

She places her hands on her throbbing brow, as if 
to collect her scattered thoughts. “She hates me! 
Yes, I heard it distinctly; hates me because Winton 
loved me! Can I believe what my own ears hear? 
And does he, the duke of Orloff, love me? Oh, no, 
no, not that — I could not endure his love — I will never 
look upon his wicked face again!” She stands in 
earnest meditation. 

Suddenly she lifts her head with a proud gesture, 
and says in a faint whisper — “Yes, dear, I will do it. 
I will go this very night ; I will flee from persecution ; 
their evil plotting then cannot touch me.” She rings 
for her maid, Jessica. 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


7 


‘‘You may brush my hair; brush it well, then I shall 
retire. I am tired, Jessica.” 

Jessica looks in some alarm at her mistress who was 
still so pale and seemed so fragile. As she brushes 
the beautiful hair, her fingers caress it tenderly, for 
she loved her beautiful mistress dearly. Her deft 
hands soon complete their customary work. 

“Good night, dear lady; if you should want me, 
ring — I shall sleep in the next room tonight, to be 
near you should you call me.” 


8 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


CHAPTER II 

Sir Winton Charlston was a politician and states- 
man — his name a tower of strength in the land. The 
time came when men rejoiced to see him the head of 
the mightiest party; when he became the very hope 
of the nation through his clear, calm judgment, his 
earnest truth and marvelous talents. 

The history of progress is a history of great ideas, 
taking hold on the minds of men and compelling them 
to action in art, in literature, in religion, and in poli- 
tics. The efficient man is he who has assimilated in- 
tellectuality and morality; who stands for an idea and 
knows he is right. Such a man was Sir Charlston, one 
of the master forces of his generation. The study of 
conditions and popular impulses made Sir Charlston 
a force in national and international politics, so much 
does it avail for the making of history, for the right 
man to say the right thing at the right time. Loved 
by his friends, he could command the greatest respect 
from his opponents. 

He was tall, well built, with a commanding pres- 
ence; he had a noble patrician face, gray eyes that 
would light up and smile when he was speaking. Yet 
no man living had suffered so much from humiliation 
as Sir Charlston. He had twice been married, his 
first marriage proving such a mesalliance as to bring 
his proud head down to the very dust, as it were. 
The woman, Elizabeth Steenrood, was of German 
descent, and so coarse, vulgar and homely, people 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


9 


wondered what had happened to Sir Winton to make 
him so far forget who he was as to stoop to such folly. 

Some friends who knew and loved him best ex- 
tended the hand of pity; others at the time looked 
at him with contempt and disdain, believing him vol- 
untarily to have taken the first step downward. 

No one could say that he was not the same proud 
statesman; his speeches were just as fiery. His one cry 
seemed to be — work ! toil ! labor ! — anything that could 
teach him to forget. He plunged into the hottest fray 
of political life, his voice rang through all England, 
men named him with deepest admiration. He was a 
power in the state; but no one ever asked if he was 
happy amidst it all. 

He could not lift his wife up to his standard. If he 
noticed she was barred from society or snubbed by his 
friends and acquaintances, he never complained or 
murmured. No one believed her to be his equal or 
treated her as such. Though he was popular and well 
liked, he was on her account socially ignored. 

Strangers called him proud and cold, reserved and 
silent; but he realized what he had done, the mistake 
he had made, and he alone, knew what he had suf- 
fered. Two years after the marriage a son was born 
who had no resemblance to the father, but favored 
the mother’s people. 

If he felt proud of his offspring no one ever knew ; 
he was still the same proud, silent man. But years 
after, things became altogether wrong; the coarse, 
uneducated woman who was his wife began to long 
for her own class and kind. She soon found them; a 
fact which Sir Winton, despite his forebearance, would 
not stand. He finally appealed to the higher courts 
and was granted a legal separation. 


10 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


Now everyone was ready to extend to him the hand 
of friendship and good will; in a few short years in- 
vitations of every description were extended to him. 
Why not? He was Sir Winton Charlston, rich, hand- 
some and free. It is true his was not the face of a 
happy man, but he was popular, eminently distin- 
guished and honored. 

Many a time he was feted as a celebrity at the most 
brilliant receptions ever accorded a public man. The 
guests smiled upon him and courted his favor. He 
was very much sought after by the ladies, and for 
that reason perhaps a little spoiled. As there are 
spots on the sun, so even the most perfect character 
has its foibles. He liked all women with a reveren- 
tial affection, for he was true as steel. But still with 
all his honest admiration it was never said of him 
that he had ever knowingly made one heart ache or 
deceived any creature who trusted him. His respect 
and affection for women, so truly chivalrous, was com- 
monly rewarded in the society in which he mingled. 

Lady Westhall seldom gave balls; they were too 
frivolous for her taste. She enjoyed with greatest 
pleasure the conversation, when it floated like musical 
waves through her reception rooms. Dancing was a 
waste of time compared with this. She invited young 
and beautiful women, who, for once during the whirl 
of a London season, found time to learn there were 
far higher worlds than those of fashion and gayety. 

There arose some little discussion when Lady West- 
hall examined the cards of invitation. She referred to 
her daughter and counselor, Lady Marie Westhall, 
who had the whole map of the fashionable world at 
her finger’s end. 

‘‘Girls may not care so much for it, mamma, be- 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


11 


cause there is no dancing, but be it said, there is no 
better set in London than at Westhall House, and Sir 
Winton Charlston always attends these soirees.” 

Lady Westhall smiled as she heard, for Sir Win- 
ton was the very man out of the whole world she 
would have chosen for her daughter; she liked him 
better than anyone she had ever met. 

As for Lady Marie — listen, oh! angels who have 
fled 1 Listen, oh dark and evil spirits that remain ! A 
soul was in the balance only for a moment, and it was 
lost. Life had all changed for her; she lived like one 
dazzled by brightest sunlight, for whom the shadows 
had passed forevermore. Her soul was awakened, 
she loved Sir Winton Charlston with a passion and 
intensity that almost frightened herself ; all other men 
were indeed shadows to her, she lived entirely in the 
thought of him. She was absorbed in him as the dew 
is drawn by the sun. 

There were times when Lady Westhall felt some- 
thing like fear when she saw her daughter’s profound 
love for Sir Winton, and try as she would, she could 
only find Sir Winton courteous, gentle and kind to 
Lady Marie as to other women for whom he had a 
friendly liking. 

‘‘Have a care, Marie!” she said to her one day, 
“have a care, my darling! Of all things that exist in 
this world, love is the best; but we must not adore 
greatness too much. You remember, Marie, that first 
and greatest of all commands, ‘Thou shalt love the 
Lord, thy God, with all thy soul and with all thy heart ; 
Him shalt thou worship!’ Sometimes, darling, when 
I see you with Sir Winton I fear you love him not 
knowing if he loves you in return.” Lady Marie an- 
swered not a word. 

That evening Lady Marie stood before her toilet 


12 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


table, the loveliest picture that poet or artist could 
paint. Her dress was of dead white silk, with clouds 
of beautiful, rare lace, trimmed with hawthorn. The 
gown was after the latest fashion; the round white 
arms were bare; the beautiful neck and throat whiter 
even than the pearls that clasped them ; her face had a 
rare and dainty color — and such irresistible dimples ! — 
the ripples of golden hair were fastened with sprays of 
pearls. 

She had never looked so fair, so beautiful, so grace- 
ful. A smile came to her lips as she glanced at her- 
self. She held her arms above her head, watching the 
grace of her own attitude: 

*T am glad I am so fair,” she said, ‘T am worthy of 
any man’s love.” 

Sir Winton was one of the first men she saw in the 
reception room ; he came to meet her with a smile. 

‘T dare not pass on,” he said, “lest I miss you. I 
have been here one-half hour, and I have heard more 
topics touched upon than I should have thought possi- 
ble to introduce in that length of time.” 

She will never remember how — or when — she will 
never remember any detail of that interview with him ; 
but she knew now, what she had never so plainly 
known before — the calm was broken, never to be re- 
gained; she loved him better than her own life. The 
conviction shocked her; she was frightened, as good 
women are sometimes, by the vehemence of her own 
passion. 

A calm, kindly affection was all he seemed to give 
in return for this pitiful worship. He admired and 
liked Lady Marie, thinking her a bright, beautiful 
woman, but as for loving her, — he never dreamed of 
it. 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


13 


As they walked through the magnificent suite of 
rooms, he talked to her, in his gentle, chivalrous fash- 
ion, of flowers, books, poetry, of everything save love. 

That word he did not, could not utter, and why? 
Because his whole heart was given to another. 

No one guessed the sweet story shut up in his breast. 
He lived on it. To him it seemed impossible that any- 
one should ever understand that mad love of his ; peo- 
ple called him proud and cold, reserved and silent; 
they never dreamed of the fire beneath the ice. 

One morning in June, while Sir Winton was rid- 
ing along in sunny France, enjoying the silence and 
beauty of nature, his thoughts went back to the dread- 
ed past ; he had never forgotten his one mistake in life ; 
it was before him day and night. But he felt its 
weight had grown less, his life had not been all in vain, 
he had won great honors ; he was admired and respect- 
ed by all, though his one terrible mistake had been a 
thorn in his heart and had to a certain extent saddened 
his whole life. 

He thought of the child born to him through his 
marriage. Though he loved him little, Sir Winton 
assured himself that it was his duty to do his best by 
him, and this he was doing, as far as money and good 
instructions could serve. 

The solemn grandeur of nature gave him other 
thoughts, ‘^Everything did not begin and end in this 
world,” he told himself. He had done no wrong, and 
he knew not why this mysterious burden of sorrow 
had been laid upon him. 

High and Infinite Wisdom controlled every event of 
his life, and he found comfort in the thought of resig- 
nation. 

“The evils of this world are lost in the shadows of 

2 


14 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


the everlasting hills. Why am I so sad and depressed 
this lovely morning ? My thoughts are certainly out of 
harmony with my beautiful surroundings.’’ He quick- 
ly raised his head, for he heard the sound of low, mu- 
sical laughter ; he turned and saw before him a picture 
that he was never to forget while he lived. 

Some women are born sirens ; Candace Clinton was 
one of them. It was not merely her beautiful, smiling 
face, her great, dark, liquid, laughing eyes that won 
all hearts, — there was a charm about her, a fascination 
that is in itself a gift ten thousand times more fatal 
than beauty. Plain women have it sometimes, and 
men forget they are plain. 

She had a voice that was like the softest sigh of the 
summer’s wind; she had a smile that seemed to deep- 
en in her eyes and die away on her lips; she had the 
most charming and subtle grace of women, she was 
irresistable ; her very caprice had a charm lacking in 
the virtue of other women. Her face was perfect in its 
loveliness and her eyes told of the soul within. Her 
hair a rich golden brown, her figure slender and beau- 
tifully rounded, her hands were gems by themselves. 

When Candace Clinton set herself to win a heart it 
behooved a man to pray for himself. She was gay; 
her lips moved to the sound of brilliant repartee. 

This beautiful woman with shining eyes was smiling 
into his; the whole scene had lasted but a moment — 
Sir Winton was dazed, as the man who drinks a de- 
licious draught of rare wine. It was a glorious day, 
full of life, happy sunshine, and music piped from the 
threats of many birds; all the tenors, and contraltos 
of the air seemed to have joined in one vast concert, 
and were filling the woods with melody. In the very 
center of the great lawn that stretched beyond the 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


15 


pleasure grounds stood a mighty oak ; its high 
branches threw their arms far and wide, making a 
shelter beneath them for all who might choose to 
come and seek their shade. Around its base, pretty 
rustic chairs were standing in carelessly scattered or- 
der, while on its topmost boughs birds are swinging 
and singing as the soft wind rushed by, making dark 
blotches upon the brilliant green. 

Beneath this huge oak, amidst the enchanting scen- 
ery, with her hand lovingly resting on the head of a 
great St. Bernard dog stood Candace Clinton when 
Sir Winton’s eyes first fell on her. As he looked at the 
two earnest eyes, half smiling, half unsure, that look 
proved his undoing. 

It was all over in a moment; he had stared at her, 
and as he stared defenceless, mindless of armor, she 
walked unconsciously into his heart. She stood just 
a little way from him, full of lovely indecision ; the air 
was full of indescribable melody and fragrance, the 
birds sang, the flowers bloomed and the hawthorn 
shone white upon the hedges. 

All was fresh, fair and beautiful — Heaven seemed 
smiling upon the bright glorious face, he thinking her 
a lovely apparition, she wondering who the hand- 
some stranger could be. 

He advanced toward her, holding his hat in his 
hand, and bowing reverentially, as though she were a 
princess. 

‘‘I beg you to forgive me if I have alarmed you ; I 
want to find the main road to Lyons. Will you have 
the kindness to point it out to me ?” 

^^The one to the left,’’ she replied, thinking she had 
the handsomest, and noblest face she had ever seen. 
He should have bowed and left her, and she should 


16 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


have walked away, but the sun shone and the birds 
sang; he never forgot her as she stood then; he lin- 
gered until he knew he must go ; he longed to tell her 
how beautiful, how fair, how modest she was, and 
that he could never forget her. His eyes were riveted 
upon her exquisite face, his ears were charmed by the 
sound of her voice. He could have stood there, he 
thought, forever; was ever a picture so fair? But he 
did none of these things, — he bowed as he would have 
done to a queen, and left her. Something new and 
beautiful came into Candace’s thoughts by day and in 
her dreams by night ; life had all changed for her ; the 
sound of his voice had never left her ears, each word 
he had spoken lingered in her heart. 

The handsome stranger had looked at her with a 
strange look in his gray eyes, and in her dreams and 
fancies he took a principal part. If ever in years to 
come, someone was to care for her, she hoped that he 
would be like this handsome stranger. Candace went 
to rest that evening but not to sleep ; for the first time 
in her life, she had seen a face which had impressed 
her and haunted her ; and she felt that she would give 
almost anything for the happiness of seeing him again. 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


17 


CHAPTER III 

Situated a few miles from Lyons, France, lies a 
picturesque but dilapidated estate formerly belonging 
to Hon. John Clinton. He died some few years ago, 
leaving one daughter, Candace, then a child twelve 
years of age, who gave promise of being a very beau- 
tiful woman. 

His last request was that Candace should be reared 
and educated by his maiden sister, but he left little or 
no money with which to care for the “Villa Leave- 
lands’’ (as his estate was called), and to educate this 
child. But Josephine Clinton was not a woman to 
shirk from duty; she became more than a mother to 
the little orphan girl. Candace Clinton grew into 
womanhood, not only beautiful in face and form, but 
with a mind and soul, bright and pure like those of the 
angels in Heaven. 

She had not known a care, was petted and loved by 
all. Having lost her mother soon after she was born, 
Candace was left to the care of her aunt because her 
father was wholly devoted to business and politics; 
he could find little time to spare to his motherless 
child. Now, at twenty, we find her highly educated, 
brilliantly accomplished, a very lily-flower of woman- 
hood. 

If one entered a room filled with people and she 
were there, her face would strike one first, — it would 
be remembered the longest. It was a face indicative 
of capability, she had plenty of character, plenty of 
spirit-life, activity and energy. 


18 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


“Candace,” said her aunt a few days later, “We are 
to dine at Major Waring’s tomorrow evening, and he 
is expecting a very dear friend of his who is now stay- 
ing for a short time in France, and will be with the 
Major for a few days. The Major and Mrs. Waring 
will entertain at dinner tomorrow evening, and a 
dance is to follow. I want you to look your best, dear.” 

“I will try. Auntie,” she answered, and tripped 
lightly down the steps, calling her pet and companion 
in her daily rambles. 

“Berno, come, Berno ;” and patting the great friend- 
ly old Berno on the head, she said, “We are remiss to- 
day, dear old Berno ; the birds are out, the concert be- 
gun, they will miss us !” and away then went, she trip- 
ping lightly over the velvety lawn, book and sunshade 
in her hand, gathering flowers as she flitted by, and 
singing in her rich, mellow contralto voice — 

“Leave us not, leave us not. 

Say not adieu! 

Have we not been to thee 
Tender and true? 

Too sad our love would be, 

If thou wert gone! 

Turn to us, leave us not. 

Thou art our own.” 

“ ’Tis true, is it not, dear old Berno ? The birds, the 
flowers, the bright sunshine all belong to us — art our 
very own,” she trilled. 

She wandered on to the spreading oak, took her 
favorite seat beneath its branches. Then her thoughts 
flew to the handsome stranger, and she mused who he 
was, and she murmured, “I am quite sure he does not 
belong in these parts.” 


LADY OF FRANCE 


19 


Never did the fine old mansion of Falkland look 
fairer than in the leafy month of June. It made a pic- 
ture that gladdened one’s heart — the quaint gray tow- 
ers, covered with clinging ivy, — the oriel windows al- 
most hidden by a mass of greenery, the square, odd- 
shaped turrets. The picturesque building seemed to 
defy and yet accord with all the rules of art; it rose 
noble and lofty, a perfect picture of harmonious col- 
oring. The foliage that surrounded it was magnifi- 
cent. The Falkland woods stretched out far and wide; 
antlered deer reclined in their shade. Always full of 
music, where blue-bells, wild hyacinths and primroses 
grew at the foot of the trees, a home for ferns, this 
was the loveliest of all nooks in France. 

On the other side of the fine old mansion lay rich, 
fertile lands, pleasure gardens, a fine old vineyard, a 
long line of glass houses, undulating, fast-ripening 
wheat fields and clover fields where the cattle browse in 
the sunshine. During this June, “Falklands” was look- 
ing its fairest, the trees were in fullest leaf; the rich 
scent of the clover came over the land. The interior 
of the fine old mansion was none the less attractive, 
none the less delightful. 

It was a lovely evening when Candace and Miss Jo- 
sephine Clinton reached the fine old castle; the moon 
was shining full on the trees and turrets. When the 
carriage stopped at the great entrance, Candace paused 
to look at the flowers, then with a gesture of haughty 
pride, all her own, she swept into the house. 

‘‘Miss Clinton! Miss Candace Clinton!” were an- 
nounced, and the next moment she was standing be- 
fore the handsome stranger she had met under the 
shade of the great oak tree. His face paled with emo- 
tion and his strong figure trembled with delight, at 
once more beholding her. 


20 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


The delicate yet imperial loveliness of the graceful 
woman, the proud manliness of the man, whose heart 
was touched for the first time in his life, made a pic- 
ture fair to look upon. She read emotion in his noble, 
patrician face, she could see the fiery flame of love and 
delight flash in his eyes, — even the proud mouth 
seemed to quiver. 

Candace never remembered the first words of the 
greeting, her eyes drooped before his; the white eye- 
lids with their dark, silken fringe covered them. Sir 
Winton thought he had never seen anything so sweet, 
so modest, he could have cried out in admiration, but 
he restrained himself. 

They were speaking of the dance when Candace 
came to herself. 

Only last week! It seemed to her quite incredible, 
quite impossible; she had spent hours thinking of the 
handsome stranger, wishing yet never expecting to see 
him again, and now here he was, under the same roof 
with her, by her side — ^her father’s dearest friend’s 
guest! Could it be possible, or was she dreaming 
again that she saw and talked with him? 

She looked at him again. Yes, it was he! and her 
heart beat all the faster, because his eyes were looking 
into hers and smiling. Sir Winton was bewildering- 
ly and completely happy, as he talked to her for a few 
moments. Then more guests were announced. How 
he hated them! 

‘‘Drawling men, and chattering women,” he called 
them in his own mind. 

Candace looked very lovely in her evening dress; it 
was of white — white that shone and gleamed with pic- 
turesque trimmings of scarlet; she wore white and 
scarlet flowers. He had thought her beautiful before, 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


21 


but now with her white neck, shoulders and rounded 
arms all shown she looked, he thought, magnificent. 
Major and Mrs. Waring were the most amiable host 
and hostess. Major Waring was in the eyes of the 
whole state one of its most distinguished men; it had 
conferred upon him the highest dignities in its gift. 
He had some great virtues, — he was generous, he was 
earnest in everything he did; he was trustworthy, his 
word being as good as another man’s oath. He had a 
fine mind, was well cultivated and an excellent scholar. 
He was a man who had labored hard for his fellow- 
men. He had been the closest, dearest friend of Jo- 
seph Clinton, and since his death he and his wife had 
always had a great love and care for Candace. Mrs. 
Waring was a kind, stately woman, with the beauty 
and vivacity which distinguishes so many of her coun- 
try-women. She, perhaps through having no children 
of her own, was exceedingly fond of young people, and 
for Candace, she had an honest, true affection, and 
was her chief friend and counselor. 

During the few moments that preceded dinner while 
they were in the drawing-room. Major Waring found 
the time in which to tell Candace about his friend. He 
told her of his respect and friendship for him, of his 
fame as statesman and orator, of his wealth, and re- 
gretted that he could not see more of him. 

The dinner passed with eclat. As hostess Mrs. 
Waring was simply perfect; altogether it was a large 
party, harmonious and well selected. While Sir Win- 
ton, occupying a seat by Candace’s side, conversed 
with her he was every moment as much charmed by 
her bright wit, as by her great beauty. 

The suite of entertaining rooms were superbly dec- 
orated with flowers, and lighted with wax tapers; the 


22 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


conservatory was illuminated, — the beautiful women, 
the stately men, the light and flowers were superb. 

There was no formality in the drawing-room when 
dinner was over ; there were music and cards for those 
who preferred such amusement; and the long French 
windows were opened wide for those who chose to step 
out and enjoy the peaceful beauty of the moonlit gar- 
dens. 

When the gentlemen entered the rooms, Mrs. War- 
ing looked at Sir Winton with a smile, as he came to 
her side, and said, “You have been talking politics; 
whenever the gentlemen leave the dinner table looking 
very much in earnest, and very determined, I know 
they have been talking politics.” 

“But we agreed to differ after a most amiable 
fashion,” laughingly replied Sir Winton. 

In politics Major Waring and Sir Winton were ri- 
vals, Sir Winton a very earnest Conservative, Major 
Waring an equally earnest Liberalist. The conversa- 
tion had no more than become general, when the 
sound of carriage wheels was heard and more visitors 
for the dance were announced. Soon, music echoed 
through the rooms — for the opening dance. Sir Win- 
ton invited Miss Josephine Clinton to join him, but as 
she did not dance he remained by her side for a few 
moments, talking to her in his own charming way. 
Miss Clinton was delighted with the chivalrous, 
knightly stranger who had come among them, and 
listened attentively to his remarks. She invited him to 
call at her home, for she felt the deepest admiration 
for his gifts as an orator and statesman. She was 
pleased with his chivalrous air toward women, and 
studied the fine profile as he turned for a moment to 
glance indifferently around the room. He looked 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


23 


upon the faces of fair women, on rich jewels, costly 
dresses, exquisite flowers, and as he reached Candace 
in her simple dress of white, his heart quivered with 
delight, in his heart he voted her the most beautiful 
object in the room. 

When Sir Winton had given way for other friends 
at Miss Clinton's side, he soon found Candace and 
asked for the dance just then forming. She handed 
him the pretty tablets, at the same time giving him 
one of her brightest smiles. 

He put his name down for two waltzes and one 
quadrille and handed them back to her with a strange 
sensation in his heart. Their eyes met in one loving, 
lingering glance, — some one was speaking to him, he 
turned from Candace for a moment to give reply, — it 
was Mrs. Bellairs, one of the guests. 

‘‘This is our waltz, I believe," said Sir Winton a 
moment later, and he led her away to join those who 
were tripping it on the light fantastic toe. 


24 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


CHAPTER IV 

Now his arm was around the supple, graceful form, 
and the lovely face was close to his; but Candace did 
not raise her eyes — she somehow felt afraid to; how 
beautifully she danced, he thought. 

“It is the very poetry of motion, but how strange 
that she never looked up at me.” Such were his men- 
tal observations. 

Candace felt bewildered under the influence of the 
soft, sweet music, the subdued manner of voices all 
mingling in her ears, and the flowers and lights, the 
flashing jewels and fair faces ; she did not talk or laugh ; 
it was as if she were in a dream. 

When the round was finished he led her to a seat, 
and remained by her side. “You dance exquisitely!” 
he said. 

“Thank you,” replied Candace. 

“I have been made perfectly happy. Miss Clinton, — 
would it interest you to know how?” he asked sud- 
denly. 

“It would please me to know,” she answered with a 
modest glance into his handsome face. 

“Your aunt. Miss Clinton, has invited me to Leaf- 
lands,” he said, “and I am rejoicing at the prospect. I 
have a strange feeling upon me. Miss Clinton, that I 
shall waken presently and find that I have been dream- 
ing. I can hardly realize my own happiness at seeing 
you again. Will you, I wonder,” he continued, “be 
angry with me if I should tell you something. Miss 
Clinton?” 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


m 


“No, I shall not be angry, Sir Charlston,” she said. 
“I am never angry without a cause, and I am sure you 
would not willingly give me any.’’ 

“I am sure that I desire not to,” he answered, wish- 
ing that she would raise her eyes and look at him 
again. 

“I am delighted,” he resumed, “at having the op- 
portunity of telling you how, from the first moment I 
left you, I have been longing to see you again, and how 
grieved I was that your name was unknown to me, 
and how the memory of your face has never left me, 
and now I find you are — Miss Clinton, Major War- 
ing’s dearest friend.” 

“Yes,” she replied, “I am Miss Candace Clinton.” 

“And is it possible that I may see you often while 
in France? That we may become friends?” 

Her heart beat in response, as she raised her eyes 
to him and answered. “I shall be glad to be friends.” 
Then Colonel Hughes came to claim Candace for the 
next dance, and led her away. 

“Sir Winton is a fine fellow,” said Colonel Hughes. 
“I met him last year when I was traveling in Eng- 
land ; we were great friends for the few weeks we were 
together, and I am indeed pleased to meet him again.” 

“He has a fine face,” remarked Candace. “He is a 
very handsome, distinguished-looking man, but evi- 
dently a man whom, I believe, it would be dangerous 
to offend.” 

“He is a staunch friend and a noble foe. Miss Clin- 
ton,” replied Colonel Hughes. 

“All the gentlemen are alike, Mrs. Waring,” said 
Sir Winton, as he watched from a distance the figure 
and face that could never be mistaken for any other. 
“I should think Miss Clinton’s head would be turned. 


26 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


— she seems to be the favorite in the ball-room, the 
same as everywhere.” 

“Candace is a sweet, bright girl. Sir Winton, and I 
often tell her I love her, as if she were my very own.” 

He stood watching the entrancing figure that had 
stolen his heart away ; he feasted upon the play of her 
lovely features. The glamour of her presence en- 
thralled him so completely that he hardly knew which 
was the sweeter, — the music of the orchestra or the 
music of his own thoughts. 

That night he was completely captivated by her; it 
was he who arranged the cloak upon the white shoul- 
ders, he who took her to the carriage, her white hand 
resting upon his arm, — no wonder that he fell fath- 
oms deep in love that sweet June night. The world 
was all blank to him, he was aware only of her; and 
then the happiest moment of all came when he was 
about to take his departure. 

Raising her beautiful eyes to his, she laid her hand 
on his hand, and with a light, gentle laugh said, 

“Good-night, Sir Charlston.” 

Miss Josephine Clinton also bade him a courteous 
good-night. Thus were forged the first fetters in the 
chain of circumstances that is to bring deepest sorrow 
as well as brightest joy into the life of this beautiful 
Girl 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


27 


CHAPTER V 

It is three months later, dear reader, since last we 
saw Sir Winton, bidding Candace Clinton a tender 
good-night. The melancholy, golden autumn is now 
here and still Sir Winton lingers in France. Aye! 
there is method in his staying, for never a day passes 
but he sees her who has become dearer than life to 
him. 

There was one spot above all others that Candace 
loved dearly, — the arbor around the spreading oak. 
Near it was a large, clear pool darkened by the shadow 
of the drooping trees; floating upon the face of the 
water were white lilies set jewel-like against the emer- 
ald-green banks. 

She liked the cool shade, the lovely lilies, the sloping 
banks, — here she sat and delighted in watching the 
waters and listening to the song of the birds while Sir 
Winton read to her. One day she looked up to him 
laughingly and said : 

‘Tf ever I should be in great sorrow and did not 
know how to bear it, I would come here and And rest 
in these clear, cool waters.’^ 

She might have guessed how much he loved her, for 
his face grew pale as death, and a shudder came over 
his strong frame. 

^‘Oh, Candace!” he cried, ‘‘even in jest, do not say 
such a thing again !” but she was looking thoughtfully 
at the lilies. 

“I can just fancy myself there,” she said, “my hair 
entangled in the lilies, my face raised to the smiling 


28 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


skies. To my thinking, there would be more sense in 
sleeping the sleep of the dead in these laughing waters, 
than living with a thorn in one’s heart.” 

“Do not say such things, Candace, I don’t see how 
you can even think them, you whose life is all sun- 
shine.” 

“I have not much patience. Sir Winton, and if I 
were very unhappy, I should most likely drown myself, 
or someone else.” 

“Heaven forbid,” he said gravely, but she laughed 
carelessly. 

“We none of us know. Sir Winton, what may hap- 
pen, — go on reading.” 

He obeyed her request and read to her, as he would' 
have done anything else that she told him, even had 
she wished him to lay his life at her feet. 

One balmy morning in the first days of September, 
Sir Winton and Candace were going out for a ride. 
Candace ordered the stable boy to bring around her 
horse, “Butterfly,” and presently she stood leaning 
her cheek against the shoulder of her favorite brown, 
petting and calling him by many endearing names. 

Butterfly seemed to perfectly understand every word 
his beautiful mistress was saying to him, and while 
she was talking to him, he was gently lifting his foot 
and setting it down again, as though impatient to be 
off, eager for his morning canter. 

Sir Winton, on a beautiful, fleet-footed animal, 
came swiftly up the driveway. Vaulting lightly from 
his saddle he stood by her side, bidding her a pleasant 
good-morning, saw that everything was in readiness, 
helped her to mount, and away they galloped. 

Candace looked dignified in her habit, her plumed 
hat resting upon her golden tresses, — a sight to glad- 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


29 


den any man’s eyes. Miss Clinton, watching after 
them as they mounted and rode away, noted Sir Win- 
ton’s fine, manly, well-built figure and handsome face 
— his perfect grace of manner, his courtly ease and 
self-possession. Happiness thrilled her heart, and to 
herself she softly said: 

“I could die happy, seeing Candace the wife of such 
a man.” Candace’s eyes were brighter than the stars, 
her lips never lost their beautiful smile. She talked 
to him with a happy abandon, that was in itself most 
charming. They had been riding for some time be- 
neath the shade of the trees, when a frightened hare 
pursued by chasing hounds, darted across the road 
close under the. feet of Candace’s horse. 

The frightened animal shied, then gave one dread- 
ful plunge, throwing his rider heavily to the ground, 
and passed from sight with the speed of the wind. In- 
stantly Sir Winton had dismounted and was bending 
over Candace, his face pale as death ; he gathered her 
in his arms, calling her by every endearing name 
tongue could utter. So white, so still she lay in his 
arms that he believed her to be dead. 

‘‘Darling! Candace, darling, can it be that I have 
found you, to love and to lose you so soon ? Oh, God ! 
it can not be true, help me to give to her the warmth of 
my own soul I” and he rained passionate kisses upon the 
pale lips. Holding her thus, he kissed her repeatedly, 
and called for help like one suddenly bereft of his rea- 
son. 

“Darling, sweet one, open your eyes and look at me 
— speak to me, Candace?” Her eye-lids quivered, — 
his heart almost stopped its beating; could he believe 
his eyes? The softest, faintest sigh escaped her lips, 
quickly he placed his hand upon her heart. 

3 


30 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


he sighed, ‘^thank Heaven, she lives — she 
lives!’’ was the exultant cry of his heart, and gently, 
lovingly, he chafed her cold little hands — quickly he 
ran to a near-by brook, and dipping his hat, he fetched 
some water; gently he bathed her brow and face, 
watched her silently for a few moments, — and then 
came his reward. 

Slowly Candace opened her eyes, she looked as one 
bewildered upon Sir Winton bending above her; she 
smiled into his eyes. 

‘^Are you better, Candace? Are you hurt, dear?” 
he asks anxiously. 

‘‘No, I do not think I am badly hurt. Sir Winton ; I 
shall be better soon. How unfortunate! and how 
frightened poor, dear Butterfly must have been to 
behave so badly ! Where is he, Sir Winton ?” 

“He went tearing down the road like mad, but that 
is of no consequence, so long as you are not hurt seri- 
ously.” 

“I will try, I think perhaps I can stand if you will 
kindly assist me,” said Candace. Gently he helped 
her to rise to her feet, but she gave a sharp cry of pain 
and sank quickly to the ground. 

“What is it? where is the pain, dearest?” he asked 
with alarm, his face growing pale with fear. 

“Oh, my foot!” she cried, “it is so painful — can it 
be crushed and broken?” 

Sir Winton loosened the dainty boot, and examined 
the wound. “It is only a sprain, Candace, but some- 
thing must be done, it is swelling rapidly. It is but a 
short distance to Major Waring’s, could you ride Se- 
lim? I will lead him, — it is but a short distance.” 

“I think I can, although I feel quite nervous, and 
my foot pains me so.” They hear the sound of horses’ 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


81 


hoofs, and the rumbling of carriage wheels, and soon 
they see coming down the road one of Major Waring’s 
men leading Candace’s horse. The Major was not far 
behind in his carriage and his voice was full of eager 
concern as he came uo to them, asking nervously how 
it all happened. 

‘‘Are you hurt. Birdie?” 

“It is only a sprain, Major,” but she winced with 
pain even while she spoke. 

“We will put you right in the carriage, my dear, and 
you must ride home with me. Something must be 
done for that foot at once ; it is getting quite painful, 
I am sure.” 

So saying, he lifted her gently and placed her in the 
carriage, and ordered the coachman to drive home 
immediately. He also directed Charles, one of his 
men, to go quickly to Miss Clinton, and say to her that 
her niece. Miss Candace, had met with a slight acci- 
dent — a fall from her horse which had resulted in a 
sprained ankle. 

“But mind, Charles, tell her that it is nothing seri- 
ous, but too painful just now to ride the distance 
home.” 

The carriage moved slowly with its precious burden, 
lest some jar might bring fresh pain to the aching 
bruise. Sir Winton riding beside, anxiously watching 
the pale face, his own almost as white from emotion. 

Mrs. Waring anxiously watching for them, saw the 
carriage coming slowly down the road, and wondering 
what could have happened and feeling sure that harm 
had come to Candace, her heart beat quickly with fear 
and dread. 

Having drawn up to the entrance, the Major gently 
lifted Candace out of the carriage, and carried her into 


32 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


the house, up the broad flight of steps to her own room, 
— pretty with pink silken and lace drapings — for none 
to make their abode there save Candace. It was only 
during her visits with these dear friends of hers that 
this room was in use; at no other time would Mrs. 
Waring allow the room to be entered save by the ser- 
vant who cared for it. This was one of the many ways 
Major and Mrs. Waring gave token of their deep love 
for their favorite. 

Into this fairy-like retreat Major Waring carried 
Candace, and laid her gently upon the bed, all draped 
with silk of the daintiest pink and clouds of rich, 
creamy lace. Candace was made as comfortable as 
possible, but her distress grew momentarily greater, 
her foot swelled so rapidly. 

They had quickly dispatched for a physician, and in 
the meantime, Mrs. Waring and her maid were doing 
all in their power to alleviate the pain. 

‘‘Be patient, dear,” said Mrs. Waring to Candace, 
“Dr. Johnston will be here now soon. It is very pain- 
ful I know, but he will help you.” 

In due time the physician arrived, pronounced it a 
very bad sprain and ordered absolute quiet for many 
days; then perhaps she might be well enough to be 
carried from her room. 

“But it will be weeks before she will be able to walk 
without assistance.” Candace listened with chagrin. 

“Weeks shut in!” she winced at the dismal thought 
and tears of disappointment filled her eyes. What 
would life be like, — secluded from the flowers and the 
birds and her daily rambles — to her, who had never 
in her whole life been for one long day compelled to 
remain in-doors? 

When Sir Winton was informed, he was thankful it 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


33 


was no worse ; but how could he live one week even and 
not see his beautiful treasure? He felt that it would 
be a week of endless waiting. But our reward surely 
comes when we are deserving, and so it was with Sir 
Winton and Candace. Daily she received loving mes- 
sages in the shape of beautiful flowers; as they sent 
forth their sweet fragrance they were a constant re- 
minder of one who was anxiously awaiting her conva- 
lescence, and who, she felt sure, was eagerly waiting to 
tell to her the sweet story of his great love — for had she 
not heard his loving cries when she lay so still, stunned 
in his arms, — had she not felt his passionate kisses upon 
her lips, — did not that very memory make her heart 
flutter? she raised her sweet eyes heavenward: 

‘What shall my answer be?’’ A faint blush stole 
over her pale face; in her own heart was whispered 
the answer. 


34 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


CHAPTER VI 

Candace was joyously happy; her days of waiting 
over — she was going down to dinner that evening. It 
is true she could not walk alone, but with a little help 
from Major Waring she got along very well. 

Like a happy school-girl going out for a holiday, 
she was delighted at the prospect of liberty once more. 
Patiently she stood and waited the completion of her 
toilet, and when it was finished she told herself that 
she had never looked so lovely. The fair shoulders 
and the white arms looked doubly fair when contrasted 
with the deep rich cream of her silken gown; the rich 
lace, the bright golden hair, the gloriously tinted face, 
made altogether a picture not easily forgotten. 

Sir Winton was standing with his face toward the 
door as they entered, Candace leaning upon the arm 
of Major Waring. 

Sir Winton came forward at once, taking Candace’s 
hand in his, giving her a fond, loving glance. She 
smiled faintly at his fond greeting and allowed the Ma- 
jor to seat her in a low chair and make her comfort- 
able. The golden head and the fair face shone brightly 
in the mellow light. There was a dreamy smile on the 
sweet lips, as though pleasant thoughts were with her. 
Sir Winton stood lost for a moment, much as an artist 
might have been, looking at so fair a picture. He was 
filled with delighted admiration. 

Miss Clinton, Mrs. Waring, the Major and all were 
supremely happy at having their favorite among them 
once more. Candace was conscious all dinner-time of 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


35 


the fact that a pair of very magnetic eyes were riveted 
upon her face, and in some vague, indistinct way .felt 
they were trying to read her very heart. She knew 
what was coming; her simple, loving heart fluttered 
and beat so quickly that she could scarcely breathe. 
And yet, she would have deferred it if she could, — 
the speaking of those words that was to open a new life 
to her. She longed to hear yet felt frightened at 
them. 

After dinner the whole party repaired to the draw- 
ing-room and Major Waring asked Candace to sing. 

‘‘What would you wish me to sing, dear Major?” 

‘^Anything you may like. Birdie ; hearing you sing is 
always a delight to me.” He gave her his arm and 
led her to the piano, and she sang in her sweet con- 
tralto voice: “Unless you can die, when the dream 
is past. Oh, never call it loving — ” 

When her red lips were parted, a rich stream of pas- 
sionate melody came from between them, charming 
all ears and warming all hearts. When her song was 
ended Sir Winton drew near and began a conversation 
with her. It did not take him long to form the con- 
viction that she loved him more than ever. 

“Candace,” he said, “do you know how I managed 
to exist these past weeks? They are gone, and I can 
not tell you how glad, yes, truly thankful to know the 
long waiting is ended. May I take you home tomor- 
row, Candace, instead of Major Waring? Say yes, 
dearest, I have something to say to you?” 

“Yes, Sir Winton, you may drive home with me if 
you like.” 

“I am to dine at Leavelands. After dinner, Can- 
dace, will you give me the opportunity of seeing you 
alone? I must speak to you, Candace.” A vivid blush 
covered her cheeks as she gave her consent. 


36 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


Candace was indeed glad to be home again, and her 
old faithful friend, Berno, went into raptures at once 
more beholding his fair mistress. He came up to her 
wagging his tail, and looking up into her face with a 
kindly look of welcome. She lovingly patted his great 
shaggy head. 

“Poor, dear old Berno, did you miss me so much?” 
Berno lifted his friendly paw to her as she reached out 
her hand. Sir Winton gallantly assisted her to mount 
the steps, and now they are home again. The servants 
wore a smile of welcome upon their faces, so glad they 
all were to see their beloved young mistress. 

“Home again, Candace,” says Aunt Josephine, “how 
little I thought as I saw you two ride away that bright 
morning, that it would be so long before you would 
come back! Well, I am thankful it is no worse, dear; 
and now, Candace, it is almost time to dress for din- 
ner,” and so saying, they separate until the dinner 
hour. 

As Candace stood in her dressing-room, graceful 
and supple as a young palm, with one little slippered 
foot resting upon the fender, she was a sight fair 
enough to bewitch any man — fair enough to madden 
any whose hearts were not under control. 

“Why is my dear mistress so difficult to please this 
evening?” says the maid, Jessica. Dress after dress 
she has laid aside. 

“No, not that, Jessica, — yes, Jessica, I think I shall 
wear that tonight,” and to say that she looked lovely in 
the gown she chose would be but a faint and inadequate 
portrayal. She was more than beautiful ; she was won- 
drously, exquisitely lovely. 

It was of black velvet so perfectly moulded to the 
rounded, sylph-like form, as to show every curve and 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


37 


outline of the graceful figure. Her neck and arms 
looked like marble beneath the rich velvet. 

The velvet, so rich itself, embroidered with a dainty 
rose pattern in silver, made it a costume at once so sim- 
ple, so elegant in its simplicity, as to make the beholder 
wonder where lay the great attraction, in the rich 
dress, the highest perfection of the dressmaker’s art, 
or in the lovely, bewitching face of the beautiful girl 
who wore it. Aunt Josephine, when she saw Candace, 
said: “It seems to me that you have a very elaborate 
and unnecessary toilet this evening?” Lovingly, Can- 
dace placed her arms around her aunt’s neck, and gen- 
tly kissed her. 

“Don’t scold. Auntie, you could give me no greater 
proof of its success than finding fault with it,” was the 
saucy rejoinder, then they went down to dinner. 

Sir Winton sat beside Josephine Clinton, opposite 
Candace; he looked at her and smiled his loving ap- 
proval; he noticed that the whole effect of her toilet 
was beautiful beyond words. 

“If I am to keep my head clear, and my senses about 
me,” he thought. “I must not look at her too often,” 
and he told himself with a quiet smile, “All things 
come to those who know how to wait.” 

Dinner over, they resorted to the drawing-room. 
Miss Clinton led Sir Winton to a table whereon lay 
a collection of photos of picturesque scenes in France, 
which she valued highly, and which she felt sure would 
interest Sir Winton. 

Candace, being left alone, wandered to the piano, 
and struck up a dreamy waltz; she played a few bars 
of the music, but soon rose from the piano and walked 
toward the conservatory, where she knew Sir Winton 
would soon follow. 


38 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


Miss Clinton kept him busily engaged for some time 
showing him the photographs ; then seeing that he had 
somehow lost interest in what she was saying; she 
suddenly said as she swept her eyes over the room, 
‘‘Well, where can Candace be? how strange, I thought 
she was playing.” 

“I will look for her. Miss Clinton,” said Sir Winton, 
“she went into the conservatory.” 

So saying he went in search of Candace, while Miss 
Clinton sank wearily into an easy chair, ready for an 
after-dinner nap. 

The drawing-room doors being open. Sir Winton’s 
quick eye discerned the gleaming dress in the dim 
light. He went quickly toward her, but so quietly that 
she did not hear his foot-fall. He stood for a moment 
looking with loving eyes upon the golden head and fair 
young face that shone so brightly in the dim light. 
There was a dreamy smile upon her lips as though 
some pleasant thoughts were with her. She was bend- 
ing over some choice lilies; but she did not look sur- 
prised when he uttered her name, the smile deepened, as 
though the dream had come true. 

“Candace,” whispered the low voice at her side, 
“forget those lilies for one moment and look at me; 
can you guess what I have to say?” The shy sweet 
eyes did not meet his own; her hands still trembled 
amid the white blossoms. 

“I am jealous of those flowers,” said Sir Winton. 
“I want your attention, dear. Do you remember that 
bright June morning when first I saw you, Candace?” 

“I remember it well,” she replied. 

“Do you know that I loved you then?” said Sir 
Winton eagerly, “I longed there and then to kneel at 
your feet and offer you then, as I do now, my life, my 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


39 


love,” and he bent his handsome, knightly head and 
kissed the white hand clasped in his. 

“I love you so, oh ! listen to me, my darling ! Love 
can bridge over even such a distance as lies between 
Heaven and earth. Some men have many loves, I 
have but this one; some worship many faces, I only 
love yours ; some men flitter away the strong love of a 
life, I give mine all to you; most men who have lived 
as long as I have done, have loved someone — I have no 
such memories ; my heart holds you, and only you. It 
is for this that I ask some return, because I bring you 
the whole unbroken, strong, passionate love of my 
heart. In this soft, sweet hand of yours I lay my 
heart, my life, my ambition to be ruled by you, my soul 
to be guided by you. You are so good, so noble, so 
true ; your soul, so simple and so beautiful, that if you 
will lay your hand in mine you will be my guardian 
angel, taking me to heaven. There was never a love 
so strong, so deep, so true as mine. Is there hope for me, 
Candace ?” 

She turned her face to him, he read her answer 
there; he opened his arms and said: 

‘‘Come, darling! Come, your home forevermore!” 
and his arms closed about her, and she, of her own free 
will, put hers around his neck, letting her fair head fall 
to his shoulder, — he folding her closer still in his arms. 

While the fair flowers bloomed around them a 
thousand sweet and fragrant messages, he told her that 
same sweet old story, that the world has heard so long 
and never wearies of — the same story of youth and 
hope, of love that was to be eternal, all enduring, 
stronger than death; the words rang to the same fa- 
miliar ever-beautiful chime, but their music was new 
to the young girl who listened and thought she must be 
in dreamland. 


40 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


'‘Do you love me, Candace ?” he asked, as he loving- 
ly kissed her. 

“Yes, I love you, Winton, and now I know I could 
not bear to live without you. I could endure all things 
with you by my side; without you, life would be one 
long, dreary blank.” The time came when they each 
remembered those words like a death knell. 

One such hour comes in every life, perfect in its love 
and happiness, without cloud, shade or fear. It came 
to them, and when the mellow light of the conservatory 
grew dim, and the fragrant blossoms shone but faintly 
in the evening gloaming, Candace had promised to be 
Sir Winton Charlston’s wife. 

“Your life shall be just as bright as one of these 
flowers,” said Sir Winton, “no shadow, no storm shall 
come near you. I shall have but one care, and that 
will be your happiness, and in return for my care and 
devotion, will you give me a little love, sweetheart ?” 

“A little !” she said, smiling fondly up into his face, 
wondering if he knew how much that little meant. 

“I have won my treasure now, and I am impatient 
to call it mine. When can I see your aunt? When 
Christmas time comes, promise me to then become my 
wife, darling?” 

But Candace would not promise ; in her gentle heart 
there was a gracious dignity, all her own — he had won 
enough, she would promise no more at present, and 
he loved her all the more for the pretty words that fell 
from her lips. 

“I shall see Miss Clinton tomorrow.” 

“Not tomorrow, Winton, dear, — let me have one day 
in which to realize my happiness and to dream.” 

“It shall be as you wish,” replied Sir Winton, “but 
give me one of those flowers, my darling, so that I may 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


41 


know when morning comes my happiness is real and 
not a dream.” She gave him the flower, and as he kissed 
her a tender good-night, she whispered : 

‘‘Tell Auntie she may bid me good-night in my room, 
mind you, Winton!” lifting a warning finger as she 
spoke ; “don’t you tell her, but I want to be alone, all 
alone for awhile with my happiness.” 

Sir Winton never forgot the beautiful, girlish pic- 
ture, and he was still dazed with his great happiness 
when he returned to the drawing-room to bid the host- 
ess good-night, and take his departure, ' 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


4S 


CHAPTER VII 

Blushing, happy Candace fled to her room. There 
was music in her heart to which she must listen, and she 
wished to dwell upon this happiness that had taken her 
captive ; she longed for a brief interval of solitude, that 
she might comprehend this new emotion that had en- 
tered her soul. 

Her heart had never throbbed with such a joyous 
emotion before — if this were love, then welcome love! 
it had crowned her life with a bliss she had never 
known. will not retire yet,” she told herself, then 
sat thinking and musing upon her great happiness, till 
quietly dropping upon her knees she breathed a prayer 
in all the sweetness and goodness of her heart : 

“I thank thee, dearest heavenly Father, for this most 
blessed gift in this life, for this perfect love.” Rising, 
she rang for her maid, and throwing herself in her 
chair, she bade Jessica brush the long golden tresses. 

‘‘Brush it well, Jessica — vigorously — I want to 
think.” It was one of her fancies that she could think 
better during the time her hair was being brushed 
than at any other time. 

Down fell the glorious masses of golden hair over 
the white shoulders, a veritable veil of gold. Oh, hap- 
py life! that held such sweet love, it had quickened all 
that was noblest, and truest in her! and in her heart 
she acknowledged the truth of the poet’s words : 

“There is nothing half so sweet in life — as love’s 
young dream.” 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


43 


A rap at the door, and Aunt Josephine entered to 
inquire why she had not returned to the drawing- 
room, and to ask with anxious concern how she was 
feeling. When leaving the room she repeated the 
same words, “Good-night, darling, do not remain up 
too late. Are you quite sure, dear, that you are not 
feeling worse? You are, I imagine, a little pale — 
your eyes look entirely too bright — are. you feverish, 
Candace?” laying a loving hand upon the golden head 
as she spoke. 

“No, Auntie, 1 am only tired, otherwise I am feeling 
well, and perfectly happy — believe me. Aunt Josephine, 
and now bid me good-night,” and she puts up her sweet 
lips to be kissed. 

They took tender leave of each other. Miss Jose- 
phine turned away to seek her own room, and delib- 
erated : 

“Something new and strange shows in Candace’s 
sweet face ; can it be that he has told his love to her ? — 
for I am sure that he does love her. Well, I am glad 
if it be so ; I could not place my darling in better hands, 
or where I feel sure she would be better loved.” So 
musing she fell asleep, dreaming of Candace as a hap- 
py, loved wife ; but then in the midst of her dream she 
saw a serpent, with a woman’s beautiful face and head, 
trying to coil itself at Candace’s feet, the face smiling 
up at her, yet at every possible chance trying to strike 
her with its poisonous tongue. Candace did not seem 
to hear the hissing, or see the shooting forth of the ven- 
omous tongue, nor did she seem to understand it to be 
a serpent, she seemed to see only, and be attracted to, 
the beautiful, bewitching face. The vision fascinated 
Miss Clinton. Intent upon watching its movements, 
she saw it coil itself, and once more make ready to 


44 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


strike Candace, — she cried out in alarm, and suddenly 
awakened to find that she had only been dreaming. 
Half horrified, she mutters between sobs, ‘‘Thank God, 
it was only a dream!” but nevertheless, it was some 
hours before sleep came to her eyes again, and even 
then her sleep was broken by restless, nervous fear. 

Candace’s sleep was far different — it was the sleep 
of the happy. She dreamed of her lover, saw his face 
ever near, smiling down upon her. Many times her 
sweet lips whispered: “Winton — Winton — ” while 
beautiful smiles lighted up the face of the sleeping 
girl. 

Sir Winton had not frittered away the best part 
of his affection and life in silly flirtations. He had 
hoped some day to meet his ideal, to love and to marry 
again; but he had hardly formed the ideal within his 
mind, and he had never met, as the poet sings, “his 
queen.” Yet he believed that somewhere in the wide 
world, his “queen” was waiting for him. But of this 
he was sure ; the one mistake of his life had cost him 
so dear, he would never again wed another unless he 
loved. 

“Marriage without love,” he told himself, “is cursed 
folly.” As yet, he had thought but little of love and 
marriage. He had seen the fair, imperial faces of the 
Roman ladies; the languid loveliness of the Neapoli- 
tans ; the dark, proud beauty of the Spaniards ; the fair 
serenity of the English; the dashing, bright beauty of 
the American. But no woman’s face, up to the time he 
met Candace Clinton, had won its way into his heart. 
It was when his eyes first fell upon the exquisite love- 
liness of Candace, that something awoke in his heart 
which never slept again. 

He had won her — won her consent to become his 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


45 


wife, and now in the midst of his happiness he won- 
dered why he was so favored. Why, after all. Heaven 
and even Earth’s choicest blessings were being poured 
out upon him ! He was so completely and thoroughly 
happy, there was not even the shadow of a cloud in his 
sky — and blissful thought, he would in a few hours 
see her again. His heart beat faster at the thought of 
her ; he would urge her to promise to become his wife 
at Christmas time; he would take her to his home in 
England; and in his fancy he could picture her there 
in his home, ever by his side, the most beautiful, pre- 
cious object among all of his vast belongings and treas- 
ures. He felt sure that she would create a furore among 
the grand dames of England. But no man can con- 
jecture what the future holds for him; whether there 
be in store triumph or failure, delight or inquietude, 
halcyon days in an Arcadia or days of evil in a slough 
of despond ; his blindness is complete. 

When Candace awoke in the morning she arose 
hastily, and unfastened the shutters, letting in the glory 
of the sunshine and the fragrance of the morning air. 
She opened the window and looked out at the tall trees 
in their autumn dress. How fair it seemed — this world 
on which she gazed. 

The sky was glowing with crimson and gold, the 
western wind was fragrant with sweet odors; looking 
at the morning heavens she thought of all that had 
passed the evening before. 

She had a keen eye for natural beauties ; the color of 
the sky, the tint of the autumn leaf, the glimmering 
sunlight as it rises and falls over the trees. Not one 
of the many beautiful details escaped her. 

She hummed pretty ditties while she dressed, and 
mused tenderly, for her soul was full of poetry. 

4 


46 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


‘‘The tree at my window has so many charming 
ways about it.” The bough of a glorious maple al- 
most reached into the room. “Graciously its branches 
nod to me, as if in invitation to play with them. The 
little leaves dance and flutter, — I am sure, in gladness 
at the breeze and the sun. Dazzling light and green 
shimmer and shake. The beams like spirits leap from 
leaf to leaf. Near my hand the sprays play — how cor- 
dial they are! I must caress them. And now, what 
tumult is this ? Summer wind blows hard — twigs caper 
and scamper and rustle shrill like little children. What 
a gay world there is among the foliage !” 

“I always think the freshest, sweetest hours of the 
day come with the early morning. I wonder if Win- 
ton is watching their beauty too? Ah! Winton, 
dearest, how I love you !” A beautiful smile came over 
the sweet lips, “and I shall see him again this evening, 
— a beautiful, lovely world, so good to live in.” 

She hurriedly finished her toilet, and donning a light 
wrap and jaunty little morning hat, she went quietly 
down the stairs, out into the balmy morning air and 
called Berno out for their usual morning stroll. 

Everything appeared so bright and joyous to Can-r 
dace. In the air there was real music. When an hour 
later she returned, she found Aunt Josephine in the 
breakfast room awaiting her. 

It was a pretty room overlooking the garden, and 
furnished in French fashion; a costly tea and coffee 
service stood upon the table ; there were also the morn- 
ing letters and papers. Candace looked through the 
letters for any that might be for herself ; the papers, she 
felt, were entirely too dull for her. 

She was dressed in perfect taste; she wore a loose 
morning gown of white cashmere, lace and ribbons. 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


47 


her golden hair was carelessly, yet artistically arranged ; 
altogether she looked the living picture of youthful 
beauty. She had an expression of deep thought upon 
her face which attracted her Aunt’s notice. The look 
vanished as her Aunt spoke to her. 

“Good-morning, Candace; how very nice you look 
this morning — it is a pity you can’t always wear a 
morning gown ; to my thinking, it suits you best of all.” 

“Thank you. Auntie,” Candace replied, “praise from 
you is doubly sweet and appreciated, for I know it is 
sincere.” Aunt Josephine looked at her lovingly with 
smiles. When breakfast was over, she asked as she 
looked across the table at the beautiful face before her 
with its half dreamy expression : 

“What are you going to do today, Candace?” 

“I do not know ; I have not decided upon any partic-* 
ular plan — I think though. Auntie, that I shall have a 
real holiday, and do nothing. Sir Winton will call 
this evening.” Josephine watching her face intently 
saw how a blush overspread the lovely face, and she 
felt sure now that he had told her of his love. So the 
day passed by, and dinner at last being over, Candace 
went to the drawing-room to await Sir Winton’s com- 
ing. Seating herself at the piano, she struck a few 
chords and it seemed as if the music were coming from 
her very soul. The sweet, red lips parted and rich 
melody poured forth from them, flooding the room 
with purest sound. 

She sang like one inspired. Love passionate and ten- 
der found vent in the siren strains, and when Sir Win- 
ton entered, he stood at the door like one spell-bound, — 
the rich, low contralto voice was more entrancing than 
anything he had ever heard. 


48 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


'‘How can I wait until you come to me? 

The once fleet morning lingers by the way, 

Its sunny smile touched with malicious glee, 

At my unrest, the minutes pause and play 
Like truant children, while I sigh and say : 

‘How can I wait?’ 

“How can I wait? The nights alone are kind; 

They reach forth to a future day and bring 
Sweet dreams of you to people all my mind; 

And time speeds by on light and airy wings; 

I feast upon your face ; I no more sing : 

‘How can I wait?’ 

“How can I wait? The morning breaks the spell 
A pitying night has flung upon my soul ; 

You are not near me, I know full well ; 

My heart has need of patience and control. 

Before we meet, hours, days must roll — 

How can I wait? 

“How can I wait? Oh, Love, how can I wait. 

Until the sunlight of your eyes shall shine 
Upon my world that seems so desolate? 

Until your hand-clasp warms my blood like wine. 
Until you come again. Oh love of mine — 

How can I wait?” 

Sir Winton stepped up to Candace, took her in his 
arms, and kissed her many times. 

“Of whom were you thinking, my darling, to sing 
such sweet words?” 

Looking lovingly into his face she answered: “Of 
you, Winton; of whom should I be thinking but you?” 

“Yes, of me. It must be me, darling, I shall be 
jealous of your every thought. And now tell me, Can- 
dace, are you happy? Do you love me?” 

“Happy, Oh, Winton ! Need I tell you that, can you 
not see, don’t my very eyes tell you so?” 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


49 


''Yes, but I wanted to hear you say it, Candace.” 

"Well, then 1 am happy, so happy in fact that I 
sometimes fear it cannot last. I love you, Winton, 
with all my heart.” And from that moment she was 
her own self no more; her soul seemed to leave her 
and go out to him, to become one with his; her heart 
joined his, never to be severed nor separated more. 

"May heaven deal with me as I deal with you,” 
said Sir Winton. 

"I have no fear,” she answered. 

He drew her head to his breast, and laid his hand 
upon the golden hair. "And now, sweetheart, I have 
something I want to tell you; and though it is very 
disagreeable and painful, it must be told you, my 
darling — it is of my one terrible mistake in life.” 

She looked up in his face as she spoke, "You mean, 
Winton, your marriage?” 

"Yes, darling, and after you know all, it must never 
be mentioned between us again.” 

"But why talk about it even now? I know all. 
Mrs. Waring told me, and how free from blame you 
were, and how near it came to spoiling your life.” 

"And so you hold me blameless, Candace? That is 
all I ask. And now my cup is indeed filled to running 
over. I must see Miss Clinton now, and you will come 
to me at the earliest possible moment, will you not?” 

Candace gave him a smile, while in the depths of 
her dark, liquid eyes shone a wealth of love that gave 
him his answer. 

Miss Clinton was delighted! Sir Winton was the 
very man she would have chosen for her niece, and 
she was grateful to heaven that the happiness of her 
only loved one was secured. Sir Winton urged an 
early marriage when he had seen and talked with Miss 


60 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


Clinton, and it was agreed that the marriage should be 
at Christmas time, to him the brightest period of all 
the winter months. 

Candace, in talking to her Aunt that evening, said: 
“I am so happy. Auntie, I did not know that the world 
held such happiness as mine.’' 

‘‘It is because you have found the true secret of 
happiness,” said Aunt Josephine, “and that is Love! 
Nothing could promise fairer, nothing better, and Sir 
Winton prayed that it might take place at Christmas 
time.” The next evening Major and Mrs. Waring 
spent with Miss Clinton and Candace, and dined with 
them. 

“I do congratulate you,” said the Major; “I thought 
it would be so, and saw it from the first. They will 
be the finest pair in all England and France. He is 
certainly the noblest man, and you the fairest woman. 
Birdie. You should be happy, Josephine.” 

“I am happy,” was the gentle reply, “because I am 
sure that Candace loves him.” 

The news of the engagement soon became known 
among their friends in France, and it met with uni- 
versal approval. It was pronounced to be one of the 
most suitable marriages that had been formed for 
many years. 

Sir Winton, after a few weeks of unalloyed happi- 
ness at seeing, and being daily in the presence of his 
loved one, found himself rudely awakened from his 
dreams by a sudden call back to England. 

Business, for which he had but little thought, was 
now urging his return, and much as he longed to 
be each hour of the day by Candace’s side, he was 
constrained to leave her for a time. 

With many tender words and loving promises, he 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


51 


bade Candace adieu, telling her that the hours would 
lengthen into days, until he would return to claim his 
own. Then turning his face toward England he trav- 
eled swiftly homeward, with the secret of his sweet 
love story carefully shut up in his heart. 

In one of his letters he sent these verses to her : 

TO MY sweetheart 

Straight, lithe, lily-fair. 

Soft, gracious, debonair, 

Clear-eyed, staunch-souled, true — 

For me, God made her. 

To be love and life. 

Altar, goddess, wife, 

A haven, hearth and heaven — 

To me, God gave her. 

We find him now, as we left him the night of Lady 
Westhall’s soiree, talking to Lady Marie of poetry and 
flowers, while we have given you this chapter of his 
life, telling of the birth and bloom of his beautiful 
romance in fair, sunny France. 


5 ^ 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


CHAPTER VIII 

While Sir Winton talked to Lady Marie of nature, 
beauty, and art, he was thinking of Candace, and his 
great love for her. Lady Marie, at the same time, 
was doing all in her power to attract and charm him. 
There was a faint tremor in her voice when she spoke. 

‘‘You were a long time in France, Sir Charlston; 
we had begun to think that England had lost one of 
its greatest advocates, its most brilliant orator; do 
you have friends living in Paris?” 

“No, Lady Marie; my friends. Major and Mrs. 
Waring, live near Lyons, and it was there I spent so 
long a time. France indeed is sunny France, the land 
of flowers — I shall always. Lady Marie, have a warm 
place in my heart for dear old France.” 

“But, Sir Charlston, did you not know how we 
would miss you? How dare you go away so quietly 
and stop so long, never telling a soul where you were, 
nor when you would return!” remonstrated Lady 
Marie, with pretty, pouting lips. 

“Frankly speaking. Lady Marie, I did not think, I 
never supposed any one in ‘Merrie old England’ would 
miss or even think of me, and least of all you, so bright 
a star, so much sought after — society’s queen, who, 
evening after evening, holds her own court of brave 
knights all alike eager for a word a smile or a dance 
from you. Would their empress condescend to give 
one thought to poor, unworthy me or to my absence?” 

Coquettishly shaking her fan at him she replied, 
“That is just where you are mistaken. Sir Winton; 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


53 


I thought of you each and every day!’’ As Sir Win- 
ton watched her, he thought how very lovely she was, 
but how her beauty would be thrown in the shadow 
by Candace’s more sparkling, brilliant loveliness, and 
he murmured to himself : ‘‘I am glad Candace is not 
coquettish ; I do not like it.” 

So many months passed by. Sir Winton was very 
frequently in Lady Marie’s company, since each be- 
longed to the same select clique, but Sir Winton 
counted the days until he might see Candace and claim 
her for his own — while Lady Marie became more and 
more determined to win Sir Winton. Now she felt 
sure it would be only a matter of weeks, and perhaps 
days, when he would confess his love for her. 

Yes, she daily expected him to tell her that his 
life would be as nothing without her, that he must 
and would have her for his very own; but poor, de- 
luded soul, she did not realize that she saw only the 
shadow of her own love reflected in him. She did not 
see that the rays of love came from herself casting 
a radiance around him, and not from him to her? No, 
alas, no! Love is proverbially blind, and so love 
blinded Lady Marie. 

He H: * * * 

Christmas eve came, an open-skied, exhilarating De- 
cember day, such as befitted the winsome, bonny bride. 
The marriage was to take place at the old church 
Bethel, at eleven; the arrangements were well made. 
The old minster was decorated with a profusion of 
flowers. Everywhere there were smiles of approval 
and satisfaction, because nature had donned her bright- 
est garb. 

Candace was in high spirits when her wedding dress 
of rich, white satin, with lace and pearls, was brought 


64 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


in to her. The bridesmaids were there also, to see 
the dress and veil spread out for the admiration of 
all present. Every one commended its beauty and ele- 
gance. There was a knock at the door, and a pause, 
then a superb bouquet of orange blossoms, white roses 
and white lilies, was given to the bride elect, a pres- 
ent from Sir Winton. The flowers were so rich and 
rare that the whole room was filled with their sweet 
perfume. 

‘‘What a bridegrom!” exclaimed the gay, laughing 
bridesmaids, “and what a happy, much-to-be-envied 
bride!” They gathered around and each one lovingly 
kissed Candace, and wished her much joy and happi- 
ness. Aunt Josephine entered to bid her last fare- 
well to Candace Clinton, soon to become Lady Charls- 
ton. 

She kissed her many times, and great tears blinded 
her eyes. 

“Are you happy, Candace?” 

“Yes, Auntie, so happy that I sometimes fear it 
cannot last.” 

“Hush, Candace!” admonished Aunt Josephine. 
“Listen ; I want you to picture a long, white road that 
leads to a shining city with towers; can you see it, 
Candace ?” 

“Yes, Auntie,” she answered. 

“The long, white road is marriage, and the shining 
city is heaven, and even as the road leads to the city, 
so does marriage lead to heaven. A good and happy 
union is the surest path to Eden, always remember 
that, Candace.” 

The carriage was waiting; the horses with new 
harness and white wedding favors were hardly to be 
restrained. A rare vision of loveliness was Candace as 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


55 


she came forth to enter the carriage; her wedding 
gown, the long white veil with its orange blossoms, 
and the superb shower bouquet of flowers, made a 
picture the lookers-on could never forget. The serv- 
ants wearing white wedding favors, all bowed low to 
her as she passed out, entered the carriage and was 
driven away to the church. 

All the elite of the county attended the ceremony. 
People were at a loss which to admire the most, the 
rare loveliness of the bride, or the regal, proud bearing 
of the bridegroom. On the face of Sir Winton one 
could read infinite pride and infinite delight; the very 
spirit of love shone in his eyes. Looking at him as 
he stood at the altar, one felt how true the popular 
opinion was which esteemed him the. noblest of men. 

Were an angel to come and raise the veil that cov- 
ered the face of the bride, what would he have seen 
there? Beauty, such as women seldom wear, radiant 
and bright as a star, deep, dark eyes in which no shadow 
lay; sweet, proud lips that were all grace and truth; 
raise the veil from the heart and what would he have 
seen hidden in the depths there ? Love, and Trust, and 
Faith in God. 

The rainbowed sunlight played on the lovely group 
at the altar, while with impressive solemnity the cler- 
gyman delivered the nuptial benediction. When Sir 
Winton realized that the ceremony was over, he smiled 
upon his bride and murmured: 

‘‘Thank Heaven, I have my heart’s desire; my real 
happiness of life begins now that I have you,” and he 
kissed his wife’s beautiful face. 

The wedding breakfast over, the bride and groom 
took their departure for their honeymoon, which was 
to be spent amid the beautiful Alpine scenery of Swit- 


56 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


zerland. Not far from the city of Geneva, in a cha- 
teau, old and ivy-grown, where the Alps towered 
above, the beautiful Lake Geneva smiled in the fore- 
ground, these two spent the first months of their 
wedded bliss. 

All that wealth could create and taste and love of 
luxury could desire were combined here in a terrestrial 
paradise. In this luxurious retirement, Candace dis- 
covered each day new and surpassing beauties and 
attractions in a heart and mind seldom equaled for 
depth and strength of passion, for force and original- 
ity of thought, for power and splendor of expression. 
Each day she admired and loved Winton more, until 
her love and admiration verged upon worship and 
idolatry; she thought with a secret joy, that this hap- 
piness was not only for a day, or a week, but for a 
lifetime, nay — even to the end of Time — and she told 
herself “He will be mine even in Eternity — I shall 
claim him there!” 

And as these sweet, solemn thoughts came to her, 
the chiming of the cathedral bells floats out over old 
Lake Geneva, and the evening shadows creep over the 
town. Sir Winton realized the freshness of her joy, 
while his own heart was filled with a great sense of 
happiness too deep for utterance; he folded his arms 
about her with a loving caress and whispered : 

“Oh, Candace, with what newness of life you in- 
spire me! How I delight to see those cheeks and lips 
of yours glow under refulgent skies of happiness, and 
that earnest, fervent soul of yours fall into one of its 
profound and beautiful reveries, amid all your happi- 
ness.” 

Early in the spring they left the Switzerland’s “Gar- 
den of Eden,” much to their regret. They went to 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


57 


Paris, and here Candace soon found herself the center 
of a brilliant circle. 

Poets, wits, philosophers of both sexes were at- 
tracted and captivated by her charm of manner, her 
beauty and her brilliant conversation. Sir Winton’s 
heart was thrilled with pride at her social success, for 
he loved to hear her beauty praised — to know that 
Lady Charlston was considered by the fashionable 
world to be the loveliest woman in all Paris. 

April came, and Sir Winton decided it was time to 
return home. He was fatigued with the continual 
round of gayety; besides, he had shown his beautiful 
wife to every coterie in Paris, and now he wanted to 
introduce her to his friends in England. 

‘‘I think, Candace, we have had enough of Paris,” 
said Sir Winton, one morning. ‘We will think of 
home.” 

“I am quite willing,” she replied. 

‘We are sure to have some kind of an ovation,” 
Sir Winton smiled; “when a man marries, his friends 
and neighbors think it needful to make simpletons of 
themselves.” 

They had splendid apartments at the Hotel Elysees 
overlooking gardens, with flowers and sparkling foun- 
tains. It was the day but one for their departure for 
England, that Candace stood by an open window in 
the morning-room, awaiting the coming of Sir Win- 
ton. Their sojourn at Paris had been a time of great- 
est enjoyment, and Candace was in delightful spirits. 
She was dressed in perfect taste ; she wore a morning- 
gown of soft, white silk; everything in her costume 
was perfect, from the delicate lace at her white throat 
and wrists, to the elegant slippers made by the most 
fashionable Parisian tradesman. 


58 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


Her golden hair was artistically arranged; the per- 
fumed, morning air came in from the opened window, 
and played with the golden tresses. 

Sir Winton came in and kissed her many times. 
‘‘How nice you look, darling; to my thinking, Can- 
dace, you are growing more beautiful every day.” 

She put her fingers upon his lips, smiled and lov- 
ingly shook her head. 

“Don’t Winton, you will make me vain directly; 
you will spoil me.” 

“No, I think not; Heaven forbid that I should. I 
would not have you changed from your own sweet 
self for worlds, Candace.” 

Then the waiter came in with hot and cold dishes. 
A breakfast was set out of delicacies that might sat- 
isfy the most fastidious taste. 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


6D 


CHAPTER IX 

English society had again missed Sir Winton Charls- 
ton from among them, but no one knew whence he 
had so suddenly flown until a week later, when there 
appeared in one of the fashionable papers, “The Che- 
shire Gazette,” this paragraph: 

“MARRIED. — At high noon, at Bethel Church, at 
Lyons, France, on the 24th of December, Sir Winton 
Charlston of London, England, to Miss Candace Clin- 
ton of Lyons, France. Sir Winton Charlston is one 
of England’s greatest politicians and statesmen. Miss 
Clinton, one of France’s most beautiful women. They 
are spending their honeymoon in Switzerland, etc.” 

All London society was electrified. Could it be 
possible — Sir Winton married — and why had he not 
chosen one of England’s fair daughters? For many 
days society in general was all astir, as to what to do 
and what to think. 

One certain reader was stunned and shocked, and 
that was Lady Marie Westhall. Her eyes dilated, a 
look of horror came into them, her lips grew pale as 
death, and she felt as if she were suffocating as she 
read. “Could it be true?” and the paper dropped from 
her nerveless hands. “Was the deed really done? — 
Sir Winton lost to her forever?” Her heart was as 
heavy as lead as she picked up the paper and com- 
pelled herself to go over the horrible sentence again. 

Yes, it was true — it was as plain as print could 
make it. 

Lady Marie cherished a fondness for Winton that 


60 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


was more than a passing fancy; a consuming pas- 
sion, a love such that, had it gained love in return, it 
would have made a good woman of her; and so sure 
was she of its being requited, that she gave full vent 
to her infatuation, and thought of him by day and 
dreamed of him by night. Now to have her expecta- 
tions thwarted, her vision of bliss shattered by this too, 
too cruel discovery, distracted her mind. How the 
black letters, like flame, burned her eyes! 

There in her room alone she shed torrents of pas- 
sionate, angry tears. She called to him piteously, lov- 
ingly, to come to her; she could not live and see him 
the husband of another. Then the feeling of angry, 
outraged pride took possession of her, and she stamped 
her little foot and lamented, like Niobe, all tears. Upon 
the head of the young, loved wife, she cried out ven- 
geance. 

“I hate her, I hate her !” she almost hissed. ‘T will 
spend my life in pursuing her, to crush her — I will 
win him yet, or part them. So help me God.’’ 

For days bitterness tore her mind like an angry, 
fiery tempest. Many a time she longed to plunge a 
dagger in the young wife’s heart, and so wreak her 
vengeance. 

Society saw little of Lady Marie for a few weeks. 
She was indisposed, so rumor had it, but the fact 
was that she was trying to still her angry, tempest- 
uous, troubled soul, and regain some of her bright 
looks, for indeed now the lady was only a shadow of 
her former self. 

It seemed none of her loving, sunshiny nature was 
left. Yet she knew that to the world she must not 
show how she had come to grief, else, in its acute and 
ungenerous surmising, it would soon master her secret. 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


61 


Many had been of the opinion that she loved Sir Win- 
ton; and he himself, had he not been blinded by his 
own love, could have seen her pretty preference for 
him. But now all that was past; she must endeavor 
to show them they were mistaken ; she would still play 
the friend, give to him and his wife, to all outward 
appearance, a warm, everlasting friendship, and abide 
her own time in which to strike and then — she would 
strike to the heart; merciless would be the blow and 
vindictive. 

“I will let her taste of the bitter cup — drink its 
very dregs. I will! I will! Her time will come!” 
And she raised her hand in all the earnestness of 
taking an oath; ‘‘That shall be my mission in life, 
to ruin hers.” 

“I wonder what she is like,” she mused; “if she is 
really so beautiful as Dame Rumor has it? Well, 
she shall see, and I must look to my laurels. To be 
out-shone, and by her, would be doubly bitter. We 
shall see, my Lady, yes, we shall see.” When her 
maid Lisbon, entered in answer to her call, she said. 

“I shall wear a blue dinner-gown Lisbon; do my 
hair in your most artistic manner. I think, Lisbon, I 
had best use a little rouge on my cheeks for I see I 
am extremely pale.” 

Lisbon followed these orders, and when her toilet 
was completed, she looked at her face in the mirror, 
smiled her approval, and thought to herself, “No one 
will guess the bitter anger in my heart from my smil- 
ing face and it is well.” 

>|« * * * * 

The bridal couple had left France, and after a pleas- 
ant journey, at the close of a genial April day, reached 
Stamfield House. Just as Sir Winton had antici- 

5 


62 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


pated, his friends all seemed to vie with one another 
in giving them a hearty reception home. 

Triumphal arches with the words “Welcome 
Home,” appeared everywhere. Lady Charlston’s face 
flushed and she turned to her husband with a kindly, 
impulsive grace that distinguished her. 

“Oh, Winton, how pleased they are to see us; how 
it warms one’s heart ! How pleasant the home-coming 
is !” So they rode through lines of people. Sir Winton 
bowing and smiling to one and all. 

“She is very beautiful!” was the universal com- 
ment. “She has an angel’s face!” Her heart was 
light, her face was bright, her smile radiant as she 
passed through the crowd of well wishers towards 
Winton’s residence. 

The sun lay low on the western towers as they 
drove up to the main entrance, and then the carriage 
stopped. A cheer that seemed to ring through space 
greeted them, and Lady Candace turned her face 
toward the crowd of spectators with a sweet, beautiful 
smile they never forgot. 

Sir Winton, bowing and smiling, made them a little 
speech, thanking them for their kindly welcome. 
Holding Candace’s hand as they entered the house 
that in future would be her home, he said, “Welcome 
home, darling, welcome home!” 

There is no place in England, more beautiful than 
Stamfield House with its legends and stories. It had 
improved greatly during the residence of its present 
owner — Sir Winton. The grounds were laid out with 
all the care and skill of England’s greatest landscape 
architect. There was surprising loveliness at every 
turn ; enchanting fountains, and' flowery bowers every- 
where greeted the eye. 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


63 


Sir Winton had tenderly cared for his antiquities, 
while all that was modern was most bright and cheer- 
ful. Into this beautiful home Sir Winton had brought 
his young loved wife to live. 

“My darling,” said Sir Winton, “this is home.” 

“Home,” she repeated, “how sweet the word 
sounds,” and her face flushed her eyes brightened. 

The housekeeper, a tall stately dame, came into the 
drawing-room, looking with amazement and admira- 
tion at the beautiful young face. Sir Winton arose 
and stood by Candace’s side; there was great pride in 
his voice, as he said : 

“Mrs. Middleton, I wish to introduce to you my 
wife. Lady Charlston.” The stately dame courtesied 
almost to the ground. 

“Welcome home, my Lady,” she said with defer- 
ence. 

Presently the housekeeper led Lady Charlston to 
her suite of rooms; the grandeur and magnificence of 
the house almost startled Candace; she went up the 
broad marble staircase, and saw the long corridors 
with the multitude of rooms. 

“Sir Winton wrote to tell me to have all the rooms 
in the eastern wing ready,” said Mrs. Middleton. 
“They are splendid rooms, my Lady — large, bright 
and cheerful, and they overlook the miniature lake 
in the park.” As she spoke Mrs. Middleton threw 
open the door. 

Candace saw the most magnificent suite of apart- 
ments she had ever beheld in her life. A boudoir all 
cream and gold, a spacious sleeping chamber, daintily 
hung with old gold silk and rich, cream lace ; a dress- 
ing-room that was a marvel of elegance, a marble 
library, all fitted with greatest luxury. 


64 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


“This is the finest suite of rooms in the house,” said 
the housekeeper “and they were fitted up especially 
for you, my Lady.” Then Jessica, the maid came, 
and Candace changed her traveling dress for an ele- 
gant evening gown of white. She went downstairs 
and as she entered the room where her husband sat, 
he looked up with rapture and delight. 

“Oh, Candace, how long you have been away from 
me! It seems hours, yet I do not suppose it has been 
one; and how fair you look, my love! That cloudy 
robe suits your golden hair and your sweet face, and 
those pretty shoulders of yours gleam like polished 
marble through the lace.” 

No dress could have been prettier. The wide, hang- 
ing sleeves were fastened back from the shoulders, 
leaving the white rounded arms bare, a bracelet of 
dead gold was clasped around them. About the grace- 
ful neck no jewels shone, its own white loveliness the 
only adornment; the waves of golden hair, half loose, 
half carelessly fastened, were like a crown upon the 
beautiful head. 

“I am proud of my wife,” he said. “When we 
have dined, Candace, I will show you over the house.” 
A delicate feast was prepared and served in the grand 
dining-room. 

“I have never really known what home meant before 
Candace,” he said; “imagine one sitting opposite a 
vision of loveliness, knowing all the time it is your 
wife! My own wife — there is magic in the words!” 
And she, in her sweet humility, wondered why Heaven 
had so richly blessed her and what she had done, that 
the wonderful unbounded love of such a noble man 
should be hers. 

When dinner was over, he asked her if she was 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


65 


tired. “No,” she replied, “I never felt less fatigued 
in my life.” 

“Then come,” he said, “you must sing for me and 
after, Candace, I should like to show you over the 
house.” 

They went together to the drawing-room and as 
they passed down the corridor, Candace heard the 
great clock chiming. 

“Ah, Winton!” she said, listening to the chimes; 
“how much can happen in a day, however short that 
day may be.” 

5j! ^ 5|e ^ 5f{ 

The great beauty of Sir Winton’s wife had put all 
the elite of society on the qui vive. This night they 
were to attend a fashionable ball at the palatial man- 
sion of Lady Chescire in Piccadilly. To render her 
ball a brilliant success, she knew it was necessary only 
to send cards to Sir Winton and Lady Candace; for 
she was well aware of the fact that the very creme 
de la creme of society would be there in all of their 
splendor to see the marvelously, and as rumor put it, 
the divinely beautiful bride of Sir Winton Charlston. 

On this evening Candace had taken great pains 
with her toilet, with a result most entrancing to the 
eye. Arrayed like a queen in royal apparel, with a 
gown of white brocade, richly embroidered with sil- 
ver flowers, her graceful arms bare to the shoulders, 
her wealth of hair gathered behind her shell-like ears, 
diamonds gleaming among her golden tresses, and on 
her lily-white fingers, a diamond cross hung upon her 
snowy breast, the dainty white slippers scintillating 
with diamond buckles — she was a vision of delight. 

Just as she was taking a long, last, well-pleased 
glance at the mirror, a knock sounded on the door. 


66 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


A servant entered with a magnificent bouquet of rare 
white roses from Sir Winton. This, indeed, gave the 
finishing touch to her exquisite toilet. 

‘‘Milady is magnificent tonight!” said Jessica, 
proudly. 

When Sir Winton came for his wife, he took her in 
his arms in adoring embrace. “You are a vision of 
loveliness tonight, my darling. How proud I am 
of you!” 

Then he gently placed the cloak about her white 
shoulders. Like a tender flower she was to him. He 
danced attendance about her with all the gallantry of 
a Round-Table knight. 

“It will be with the keenest of delight and greatest 
of pleasure that I shall introduce you to my friends 
tonight as my wife.” She smiled at his enthusiasm, 
her eyes shining bright as stars. 

“Such ardent devotion, such a king of a husband; 
oh, why have I been so blessed!” she whispered to 
herself as they entered the carriage and were driven 
away to the ball. 

It was to be an unusually grand and magnificent 
affair. As was anticipated, the elite of London was 
present. When Sir Winton and Candace entered and 
ascended the broad staircase, she who was to be the 
observed of all observers, looked in astonishment at 
the brilliant scenes that met her gaze on every side. 

The shining lights, the queenly graceful women, the 
stately men, were fair to look upon. She saw Lady 
Chescire, bland, smiling and gracious, bowing as she 
received her guests. Sir Winton led his wife to her : 

“Lady Chescire, my wife. Lady Charlston,” and the 
hostess gave to her guest such a cordial, loving smile 
of admiration as to win her at once. 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


67 


*'I do indeed, congratulate you, Sir Charlston.” To 
Candace she said, Welcome to England, dear Lady 
Charlston.” A thousand eyes centered on Candace, a 
thousand tongues murmured admiration. 

^‘Ah !” says Lady Chescire, “allow me — Lady Charls- 
ton — Miss Westhall, of Westhall Manor.” 

Sir Winton, Lady Chescire, Candace and every one 
near saw how Lady Marie turned deathly pale and 
trembled for a moment as if she would fall uncon- 
scious; but she hastily recovered her self-possession 
and bowing, said: “Ah! Lady Charlston, I am in- 
deed charmed to know you. Sir Charlston and I are 
very dear friends, as he has probably told you, and I 
shall be more than pleased to be on the same friendly 
terms with Lady Charlston.” To this Candace replied : 

“It will give me great pleasure to claim you for my 
friend. Lady Westhall.” 

Lady Marie was still faint, and Sir Winton, not- 
ing her extreme pallor, said, ‘Had we not best move 
out of this crush? I fear you have not fully recov- 
ered, Lady Marie ; I hear that you have been quite ill.” 

“Yes, I have been ill. Sir Charlston, and I have not 
fully recovered; the perfume of the flowers and the 
heat overcame me for a moment, but I am much bet- 
ter now, thank you.” 

She was closely watching Lady Candace, noting her 
rare, exquisite loveliness, and to herself, she thought: 

“A perfect goddess, even more beautiful than I 
thought it possible for her to be, and how tastefully 
she dresses. Well, for all this, my Lady, I shall hate 
you all the more ! I hate you for every loving glance 
that he gives you, the love that should be mine. Ah ! 
yes, I do indeed hate you, and will live to bring you 
out from your realms of bliss.” 


68 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


^‘Wait a moment, Candace,’’ said Sir Winton, ‘^a 
friend of mine, I must see him,” and Candace watched 
him go to a tall, kingly looking man with dark 'hair 
and laughing blue eyes. She noticed how the strang- 
er’s face lighted up as he greeted Sir Winton; for a 
moment they conversed earnestly, and then they ap- 
proached her. The next moment he bowed low be- 
fore Candace, while he remarked to himself that she 
was a beautiful vision, or else he was dreaming. His 
very heart seemed to be drawn to her. The great, 
dark, laughing eyes seemed to look into his very soul, 
and as he talked to her and welcomed her among them, 
he thought, man could die for love of such a 
woman.” And he was never the same man from that 
night. But let it be understood that Lord Lionel Bel- 
mont was a man of honor, a gentleman in the true 
sense of the word, and the dearest friend Sir Winton 
had. 

The ball-room was dazzling with its light and color ; 
the gorgeous masses of bloom rose tier after tier ; the 
golden light that fell from the grand chandeliers, the 
ripple of the fountains, the sweet soft music that seemed 
to float over the room, all combined made one think 
of fairyland. 

As she danced, the light in Candace’s eyes deepened, 
her color rose and the sweetest, brightest smile played 
around her lips; she felt bewilderingly happy. 

Sir Winton watching her felt proud and glad, for 
he well knew that his own wife was the loveliest object 
in the room. The tide of popularity rose strongly in 
Lady Candace’s favor, and had not every thought been 
absorbed in her husband, her head must have been 
turned by the homage and flattery offered to her. Sir 
Winton said to his wife that night after returning 



And he thought “A man could die for love of such a peerless 
woman.” — Chap. /X, p. 68. 










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A LADY OF FRANCE 


69 


home from the ball, ‘^You created a sensation, darling; 
I predict that my own sweet wife will be the belle of 
the season.” She smiled fondly up at him and said: 

‘‘It is all very nice, but I love home and you best, 
Winton. I like your friends. Lady Westhall, and 
Lord Belmont, very much. Lady Marie is very beau- 
tiful, and Lord Belmont is not only a very hand- 
some man, but one whom I would trust implicitly; 
he has a good face.” 

“Lady Marie,” he replied, “is a spoiled beauty, and 
Lionel is all you say of him, Candace, and more; so 
now, darling to rest and sleep, or you will lose some 
of the roses from those pretty cheeks. Good-night, 
love,” and so ended Candace’s triumphant evening. 


70 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


CHAPTER X 

Lady Marie Westhall, stood alone in her room that 
evening after the ball, her cheeks colorless, her eyes 
bright with anger, her heart beating heavily, every 
nerve strained to its utmost tension. Hatred had taken 
such deep root in her soul as to kill every good, wom- 
anly motive. 

She stood like a beautiful lioness, pale, dazed, humil- 
iated, for as her hatred grew for the beautiful, much- 
loved wife of Sir Winton, so her love for Sir Winton 
increased until it became a consuming fire, the maddest 
love one creature can feel for another. 

She had but one longing now, one desire, and that 
was to hurl Lady Candace from her throne, and that, 
she was clever enough to know, would require delicate 
•management. It was the greatest puzzle she had ever 
known ; but of one thing she was sure, she hated Lady 
Candace with a deadly hatred; that one thought was 
irrepressible. As she paced the room bitter, angry 
jealousy raged in her heart. She paused before a 
mirror and glanced at the pale, lovely face reflected 
therein. 

Clad in a gorgeous dress of lightest rose silk, and 
costly gems, she spoke to herself. ‘T am beautiful, 
why could he not love me?’^ and again resentment fills 
her heart, and she thinks : 

‘^She is like a beautiful goddess; purity and good- 
ness look out from those deep, liquid smiling eyes, but 
my Lady, that shall not save you. I will strip you 
of all this, and bring you down to the very dust. I 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


71 


will bring you from the heights of social grandeur, 
to the lowest depths of shame and disgrace/^ 

Unrequited love had so completely deadened every 
good, womanly feeling and impulse, that she did not 
feel one atom of pity in her heart for the woman who 
was her rival in beauty, in goodness and love. 

She did not even feel sorry that so peerless a woman 
was to be sacrificed ; she would do anything to achieve 
her ends ; she could have willingly trampled the beauty 
from Candace’s face; she could have tortured her, she 
would almost have slain her; and yet she recognized 
the value of the woman whom she longed to destroy. 

‘‘I have read,” she meditated, ‘‘of generals who have 
made a ladder of the dead bodies of soldiers to scale 
a fortress. I shall have to tread upon one human 
heart, and it must be broken for my own sake. I 
could almost slay her!” she muttered. 

“My weapon shall be that of friendship — closest 
friendship. What a punishment that friendship shall 
be to me — seeing him ever near her, his loving worship 
of her; how shall I endure it? But it will make my 
hatred of her all the stronger. Now, my beauty, my 
plans are laid, and I pray I shall live to see them every 
one carried out.” 

Did she not know that there is a power supreme, 
who keeps such a loving, watching care over his own 
— that not a sparrow falleth to the ground without his 
notice? Did she not know the divinely beautiful face 
of Lady Candace was made beautiful, and attracted 
all hearts, because of the noble, sweet, God-kissed soul 
within ? 

Why did she not stop and think that God, in his 
Divine wisdom, cares for his own ; but in her blindness 
she overlooked the fact. It is wonderful how people 


72 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


can at times blind themselves, and there is no creature 
on earth so blind as a woman who loves a man, who, 
in his turn, is indifferent to her. So it was with Lady 
Marie Westhall; her passion had completely blinded 
her, and now she thought of nothing but revenge, and 
putting her rival out of the way. 

It was a bright, lovely morning in June, the sky was 
blue, with billowy white clouds floating over it; so 
fair a day seldom gladdened the earth; to Candace it 
was like a smile from Heaven. Her heart went back 
to the lovely shady wood and shadowed lake at home 
— she wondered how all her dear friends were at home. 

“And Aunt Josephine, so dear and kind — more than 
a mother,’’ and her eyes filled with tears as she thought 
of her, and her old home. 

“I shall see them again — home and Auntie, have no 
fear; I shall see them soon!” She could not under- 
stand how or why it was this morning that she could 
not take her thoughts from “Leaflands.” 

The miniature lake at “Stamfield House” was far 
more beautiful, and her new home far more fair. “Sir 
Winton loves me so much, I am altogether so happy, 
why am I longing so for home and Auntie?” 

Afterward, she knew it was a singular coincidence, 
that on that day above all other days, her heart and 
thoughts should have gone back to the dear old home 
and Auntie. She was dressed with unusual care and 
elegance — she felt she must be in harmony with the 
unusually beautiful day. 

She wore a morning dress of fine white Indian 
muslin, cut after some quaint, artistic fashion, showing 
the graceful curves and outlines of her figure to the 
greatest advantage. The luxuriant golden hair, lovely 
enough by itself to make a plain woman beautiful, was 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


73 


brushed back from the white brow, and fastened with 
a dull gold ornament. She had gathered a deep crim- 
son rose and fastened it in her dress; she looked the 
very embodiment of all that was lovely, pure and an- 
gelic. No wonder that Sir Winton kissed her as 
though he could never let her go again. 

“You are brighter than the morning, Candace!” 
he said; “you are the lovliest girl. How proud I am 
of my darling!” 

“Proud of me?” she said. “Ah, Winton, I do not 
want you to be proud of me; only love me, that is 
all ; I want nothing but love.” 

“I could not love you more than I do, Candace,” he 
replied, as he drew her to his heart and caressed the 
golden hair, his voice full of emotion; she had never 
seemed so dear to him before; he had learned, during 
these months of their married life to understand and 
appreciate the purity and nobility of her character, 
which made her seem akin to angels, and he kissed 
the white eyelids and red lips. 

“How you spoil me, Winton,” she said, arranging 
with her lily fingers the ripples of golden hair. “No 
matter what pains I take with my hair,” she added 
laughingly, “you will disarrange it all.” 

“You should not have such beautiful hair,” he said. 
“This morning in the sunlight it looks — well, I am at 
a loss for a comparison; I know nothing it looks like. 
There is the breakfast bell, darling. Come in.” 

In some strange way her thoughts would go home 
that morning. When she entered the breakfast-room, 
where the daintily appointed table groaned under the 
weight of ripe, luscious fruit, and other home luxuries. 
Sir Winton affirighted her by an exclamation, as he 
took up the letters. 


74 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


“A letter from Major Wiring; do not be startled, 
darling, but your Aunt is very ill.” 

^‘Aunt Josephine ill? Oh, Winton, I am alarmed,” 
she replied as a cold chill struck her heart. ‘‘Aunt 
Josephine ill? We must go to her at once,” and he 
noticed a deadly pallor overspread her lovely face. 

“Yes, darling, we must go to her; we will start at 
once; I will make the necessary arrangements,” and 
they each repaired to their apartments to prepare for 
the journey. 

The packing was quickly done and in the evening 
of that day Sir Winton and Lady Candace journeyed 
toward France, as fast as steam could carry them. 

In one of the grand old rooms overlooking the park 
lay Miss Josephine Clinton, doing hard battle with 
death, her head tossing on the pillow, a wistful look 
in her eyes, as if the pain were too great, and she 
longed to die. 

All the servants in the great house moved with noise- 
less footsteps, and the sound of a laugh was never 
heard. It was as if the sun had set and everlasting 
night reigned. Aunt Josephine, with face white and 
worn, flushed and fevered, lay sick unto death, with 
a fever for which there was no cure. 

She had been told as much, she had listened to their 
words, and when they had finished, she cried out: 

“I must see Candace! I cannot die without seeing 
her sweet face once more 1” and so it was, hour by hour, 
and day by day, that she was spared. 

Sir Winton and Candace came at last. Mrs. Waring 
met them ; she took Candace in her arms, and said : 

“Be brave, dearest Candace, your Aunt Josephine is 
seriously ill.” 

Candace tried to hide her fear and alarm as she 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


76 


gazed lovingly into her husband’s face, but there was 
a quiver upon her lips as she exclaimed: 

''Oh, Winton, did you hear?” 

Sir Winton bent over her in infinite distress; the 
simple, pitiful words went through his heart, for they 
hinted to him a greater state of distress than those 
around them dreamed of. 

"Be calm, darling, and we will go to her,” and in 
silence he led the way, she following him. 

Miss Clinton lay upon her pillows, white and ex- 
pectant, and as she saw Candace, she cried out with 
a weak, but glad voice: 

"At last, Candace! At last! Oh, I was so afraid I 
should have to die without you, dear,” and feebly she 
put her white arms about Candace’s neck, who, bend- 
ing over her, was in a passion of tears. 

"My child,” said she tremblingly, "you have been 
all the world to me, Candace. Are you happy, darling? 
I have missed you so much,” she goes on, and then 
she called Sir Winton. He knelt near Candace at 
Aunt Josephine’s bedside. She took his hand and 
lovingly laid it upon Candace’s head, and softly spoke 
to them. 

"I leave her to you ; in dying I bless you both. Deal 
with her gently. Sir Winton, love her always, and God 
will bless you. I can now die happy.” She looked at 
them long and lovingly, and fell asleep with her eyes 
still resting tenderly upon them. 

We say, asleep — yes, it was the sleep of the dead, 
for Miss Josephine Clinton never again opened her 
eyes on earthly scenes; her soul was wafted on to 
Heaven. 


6 


76 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


CHAPTER XI 

‘Teace on earth, good will to men,” rang the Christ- 
mas bells. “Peace on earth.” The music came peal- 
ing over the snow, stirring men’s hearts with the mes- 
sage of love. It was such a Christmas as had not been 
seen for years — so bright, so clear, so frosty. 

The country people said strange things must happen, 
for the holly was full of berries. 

It was two years since Sir Winton’s and Candace’s 
wedding day, and still Candace reigned queen of so- 
ciety. She, if possible, was more queenly than ever; 
the fresh, girlish loveliness had matured into beautiful 
womanhood. 

On this evening she was to give a grand ball. Out- 
side the frost lay thick and white on the evergreens; 
the dainty, laurel leaves held little nests of snow; the 
fir raised its head with a stately air, for King Christ- 
mas never came without it. Great icicles hung like 
huge diamonds from the trees and the hedges. 

There had been royal entertainments in London, but 
none on a grander or more magnificent scale than this 
one. All that flowers, lights and superb decorations 
could effect was effected. There was tier after tier of 
brilliant bloom; the light of a thousand tapers made a 
brightness greater than that of day ; tiny scented foun- 
tains rippled among the flowers. It was a magnificent 
spectacle, and this magnificent fete was graced by the 
presence of three queens. 

The castle was one blaze of light and artistic colon 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


77 


The ball was brilliantly and numerously attended. The 
guests gazed and wondered at what seemed like a 
dream of fairyland ; they were delighted with the rich 
hangings, the fragrant exotics, the scented fountains 
that rippled so musically, the gleaming jewels, the 
sweet, soft music, and the bright, beautiful faces. 

Sir Winton did, indeed, feel proud of Candace. She 
looked more beautiful than he had ever seen her, in a 
rich point-lace dress over white satin. The wreath 
that crowned her head, the necklace that reposed upon 
her bosom, the bracelets that clasped her arms, the 
bunches of flowers that festooned her upper lace dress, 
were all of the same rich pattern, Lilies of the Valley, 
whose blossoms were formed of pearls, whose leaves 
were of emeralds, and whose dew was of diamonds; 
snowy gloves and dainty white satin slippers, with bril- 
liant diamond buckles, completed this toilet, the effect 
of which was rich, chaste and elegant beyond descrip- 
tion. 

As she stood by Sir Winton’s side under the great 
chandelier, graciously receiving her guests, the light 
scintillated and gleamed in the rich dress and jewels. 
She was ‘‘monarch of all she surveyed.” Admired and 
flattered, the homage of great and famous men floating 
around her — her every word received with smiles, her 
every wish complied with. She bore her honors meekly, 
with sweet, unaffected grace; never forgetting, in this 
the supreme hour of her triumph, the wants and the 
wishes of others. 

The guests declared Lady Charlston a perfect host- 
ess; no one was forgotten or overlooked by her. 

At this ball were two other queens of beauty. As the 
three stood side by side at the opening of the recep- 
tion, opinions varied as to which bore the palm of sur- 
passing loveliness. 


78 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


Lady Marie, in a dress of pure white — white with 
green leaves and flowers, with flowers in her golden 
hair, was the perfect ideal of a fair, graceful, lovely 
woman. 

Lady Claudia Vincent was her perfect contrast; 
dressed in a rich satin of the deepest cream, trimmed 
with faultless and priceless lace. In the light, this 
dress of shining material resembled cloth of palest gold, 
the rounded arms were bare to the shoulders, the white 
neck and throat rising like a stately flower from its 
calyx. 

Her eyes were large, very dark, almost black, and 
exceedingly expressive, her hair of a glossy nut-brown, 
with rubies gleaming in its coils, and her smile, so 
bright and witching, made others smile in sympathy. 

She was vivacious and very intelligent, as well as 
beautiful; consequently she was very much sought 
after. 

The golden hue of the dress enhanced the beauty 
of the dark hair and eyes ; there was a slight flush on 
the splendid face, a deep light in the dark eyes. A 
superb suite of rubies, that sparkled like points of 
flame, gleamed on the white breast. 

As these three queens stood for a few moments side 
by side, all eyes were upon them ; for the most divinely 
beautiful face, most glorious form, and most charm- 
ing manner. Lady Charlston eclipsed the others. 

Lord Lionel Belmont attended this ball ; he opened it 
with Lady Charlston; Sir Winton danced with Lady 
Marie Westhall ; the Duke of Orloff with Lady Claudia 
Vincent. Three handsomer couples one could not find. 

These three, like Venus, Diana and Athena in the 
judgment of Paris, were universally admired. From 
among the many guests present, the opinion of two 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


79 


alone concern this story; they became bitter enemies 
afterward, but at this time they were most excellent 
friends. They were conversing together, one leaning 
carelessly against a marble pedestal on which stood the 
Venus of the Louvre,” the other tall and erect, did 
not look as though it was his habit to lean anywhere, 
when he could stand. The dark-haired, frank-looking 
man, with laughing-blue eyes and beautiful mouth, was 
Sir Lionel Belmont, and he might as he stood there, 
have served as a true type of a Saxon knight. Man- 
liness, truth and beauty shone on his handsome face. 

His companion, who looked around him with an 
air of stately consciousness, was Gerald, Duke of Or- 
loff, and master of ‘‘Hazelmere,” and of many mil- 
lions; a very handsome, determined looking man — 
handsome after the fashion of a Spanish king, with 
dark hair, eyes dark as night, and a dark mustache 
that hid the haughty mouth. Perhaps the most dis- 
tinguished looking man in the room, but evidently a 
man whom it would be dangerous to offend. 

Duke Orloff, who had come up to London purposely 
to attend the ball, said that it was a marvelous success ; 
he had seen nothing like it. Lord Belmont, who was 
looking very handsome in his evening dress, stood 
watching the dancers. Duke Orloff approached him 
and asked: 

“Do you know, Belmont, who is the most beau- 
tiful woman present tonight?” 

Lord Belmont looked about him with a smile, as 
he replied, “Amid so many, how can I decide?” 

“The decision does not require one moment’s hesita- 
tion,” said Duke Orloff. “Look around and you can 
readily see, there is no one to compare with Sir Win- 
ton’s wife, Lady Charlston; she is by far the most 


80 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life, and, 
frankly speaking, Belmont, I would give my life to 
win the love of such a peerless woman!’’ 

‘‘Hush, Orloff!” says Lord Lionel; “you do not 
think how you are speaking; she is Sir Winton’s wife, 
as good as she is beautiful, and Winton’s love for her 
is idolatrous worship. It is a perfect love match; Sir 
Winton is to be envied by all men, I should say, and 
why not? He is rich, he is the most brilliant man of 
our day, he is famous as a statesman, a politician and 
orator; he is popular, he has the most lovely, beautiful 
wife, and she loves him. She has eyes and ears for 
nothing, nor for any one save him; she herself is a 
queen, she is everything a good and beautiful woman 
should be.” With equal enthusiasm, but a divergence 
of points in the character to be appreciated, the Duke 
replied : 

“She is beautiful, a woman men would rave over, 
go mad and die for ! I read somewhere a line that read 
like this, ‘A sweet, red, splendid kissing mouth,’ and I 
thought of the lines when I saw her, Lionel,” and 
while the two men conversed together they were ut- 
terly unconscious of the influence she would exercise 
over their lives, of the tragedy that lay before them, 
and there was something almost pitiful in their igno- 
rance. 

We left Lady Marie waltzing with Sir Winton 
Charlston, and as she danced, she thought : 

“If the cost of this dance should be death, I should 
dance !” Her after life had extremes of pain and pleas- 
ure, but she never forgot the half-hour that followed. 
She trembled when he placed his arm around her ; she 
felt sure he must hear the quick beating of her heart. 
The light, the perfume, all seemed to close in upon 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


81 


them, and to the half sad, wholly sweet music of a 
waltz, they seemed to float into fairy-land. 

‘^If it would but last,” she thought, ‘‘if we might 
dance on forever, I might learn to hate her less — I 
might even spare her. Oh, to be ever near him, then 
I might forgive her for winning him.” She was half 
frightened at herself, at the terrible, passionate love at 
her heart. Her face so near his — the music ceased, 
and it seemed to her that she had suddenly fallen from 
Heaven — she could not at once realize it. She saw 
him looking for some one, she readily guessed it to 
be his queenly wife, and the old bitter, rebellious, re- 
vengeful spirit again took possession of her. She saw 
his face light up with love and admiration, and she 
readily guessed his eyes had found that which he was 
seeking. Duke Orloff joined them, and Sir Winton, 
finding himself released, hurried to Candace’s side, who 
was smiling and talking to the Duke of Laleham, with 
whom she had just finished the dance. 

The Duke released Lady Charlston to Sir Winton, 
and as he passed on, he marveled at the great love that 
existed between these two, husband and wife. 

“Are you tired, darling ?” asked Sir Winton, in lover- 
like tones, when he at last found himself alone with 
Candace. 

“Just a little, Winton,” she answered, “I am tired 
with pleasure and happiness; it is all so bright and 
beautiful — I am perfectly happy. But look, what have 
you been doing to Lady Marie? She seems to be in 
trouble, there is a shadow of sorrow upon her fair face 
— come, dearest, let us go to her at once.” Slowly they 
made their way through the crowd toward Lady Marie, 
who was now earnestly conversing with the Duke of 
Orloff. 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


‘'Winton/' said Candace, as they slowly threaded 
their way among the guests, ‘^you must dance with 
Lady Claudia; she dances beautifully, and I love her 
dearly.” 

Sir Winton smiled as he replied, think, Candace, 
that Duke Gerald will see that your Lady Claudia's 
time does not pass heavily or slowly for her ; have you 
not seen that mutual admiration is growing strong in 
that direction?” 

‘^Really, Winton?” she asks, “Well, Lady Claudia 
is a sweet, beautiful, winsome girl, and Duke Gerald 
is a handsome man.” 

Then in the midst of the brilliant crowd. Lady 
Marie and Duke Gerald saw Sir Winton and Lady 
Candace coming toward them, Sir Winton's grand 
head and noble figure towering above his fellows. 
Lady Candace, her sweet face beautiful and smiling, 
was looking up lovingly in that of her husband, — a 
perfect picture they were, fit for an artist to portray. 

As the Duke and Lady Marie awaited the two com- 
ing toward them, smiling and talking, they each felt 
jealous of the perfect love and happiness, — Lady 
Marie hating Lady Candace; Duke Gerald vowing 
deep down in his heart, that if it be possible, he will 
move Heaven and earth to win such a smile from Lady 
Candace for himself. 

There are many phases of cruelty in this world; it 
is cruel to put out the bright eyes of a singing bird — 
it is cruel to destroy a fair bud, before the flower has 
blown — it is cruel to shoot the bright winged pheas- 
ants, to torture a child, but the greatest cruelty of all, 
is for a man or woman to so far forget themselves, or 
their mission on earth, as to deliberately set to work 
to destroy a woman. 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


83 


Destroy her happiness, her home ; to pierce her heart 
with an arrow, as it were — to see her beloved, beau- 
tiful and happy, and then set to work to dethrone her 
in her husband’s heart, to rob her of that husband’s 
love, to break that tender, loving heart. Yet such were 
the firm resolutions formed by these two selfish, wick- 
ed hearts, as they watched Sir Winton and Lady Can- 
dace advance toward them. Outwardly, they met her 
with cordiality, pretty preference — one heart loving 
her with a selfish, uncontrollable love and admiration, 
the other hating her with a hatred something akin to 
a demoniacal passion. 

They met, chatted gaily together for a few mo- 
ments, and then the four repaired to the conservatory, 
seeking a little quiet and rest from the- brilliantly light- 
ed rooms and the moving throng of guests. 

No one enjoyed the evening more than Sir Winton 
Charlston; it gave him great pleasure to see all those 
of brilliancy and note, of London’s best circles, assem- 
bled beneath his roof. He listened with exquisite de- 
light to the praises lavished upon his young wife, and 
he was glad that the mistress of his heart and home 
was so universally admired and loved. In the far 
distance they heard the sound of sweet music, broken 
every now and then by the wailing of the wind in the 
trees without. 

Sir Winton looked down lovingly upon his fair 
wife — she made a sweet picture seated there in the 
dim, mellow light of the conservatory. The soft light 
gleaming on her gems of purest ray, and throwing a 
half halo around her golden head gave her angelic 
grace. 

While Candace listened to the wailing of the winds 


84 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


without and the sound of the distant music, smiles of 
happiness parting her red lips, the Duke of Orloff 
watched her with eager eyes, and his heart went out 
to her; for he was possessed by a passionate, feverish 
longing to embrace her, to win a smile, or a word of 
love. 

Who can tell how far this fierce longing, this un- 
holy desire for her love may lead him, who has never 
known what it is to curb a desire, or to have a wish un- 
fulfilled? 

When Lord Belmont entered the conservatory in 
search of Lady Charlston, he was struck by the beauty 
of the sight before him, so picturesque were the group 
of friends as they talked together in the dimly lighted 
conservatory. 

‘Tardon me and my intrusion upon so delightful a 
tete-a-tete, but Lady Charlston, I believe the next is 
our dance,’’ and together they went away to the ball- 
room, Sir Winton thinking what a splendidly hand- 
some couple they made, while the Duke of Orloff re- 
sented Lord Belmont’s appearing upon the scene and 
taking Candace from their presence. 

The evening was soon drawing to a close; one by 
one the guests had made their adieus, and when at 
length the last guest departed, Candace went to her 
boudoir, and there Sir Winton found her. 

He took her in his arms, embraced her, and kissed 
the fair face now flushed with joy, and in softened 
tones, said: 

‘Wou charmed me this evening, my darling, as you 
did everyone. I am beginning to believe that you 
win all hearts.”^ Twining her arms about his neck, 
she looked up into his face with a sweet, winning 
smile. 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


85 


‘‘But I love only you, iny husband — ” 

“I have nothing left to wish for,” replied Sir Win- 
ton, as he gazed into the fair, sweet face. 


86 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


CHAPTER XII 

Two years and five months elapsed since Sir Win- 
ton made Candace Clinton his wife, and every moment 
of the time was filled with unalloyed happiness. Sir 
Winton’s political advancement had been so rapid, 
that now he was selected for the Premiership. Lady 
Candace, who watched his career with anxious eyes, 
saw him now filling the highest political position of 
the kingdom, holding the reins of governmental af- 
fairs in his firm grasp, shaping the events of a vast 
empire. 

Lady Candace flung herself heart and soul into 
her husband’s interests, while he acknowledged to him- 
self that she was as his right hand. When his clear, 
pitiless logic failed, then her powers of fascination 
succeeded, until Lady Candace became a power in her 
way. 

Her season in town was always one long, brilliant 
success, her drawing-rooms were always crowded — 
people attended her balls or soirees as though they had 
received a royal bidding. When the brilliant season in 
town was ended. Sir Winton and Lady Charlston 
would take up their abode at Charlston Place, a few 
miles out from London, an ideal country home. 

It was here that Candace really lived; it was here, 
day after day, that she wandered through the shady 
park with Sir Winton ever by her side. No child had 
been given them; the long-wished-for heir had never 
appeared, but she was woman enough to be more than 
pleased with her lot in life; she was proud of it; she 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


87 


loved the bright world, and above all, she loved her 
own, and Sir Winton’s share in it. 

She would rather be Lady Candace Charlston, of 
Charlston Place, she declared, than Queen of England. 
Sir Winton found that it was a great thing to have a 
clever, beautiful and loving wife. She would talk 
with him on any and every subject, suggest ideas, give 
her opinion, and when they had discussed the matter 
well, she would say to him : 

^‘Those are excellent ideas of yours, why not put 
them in form?’^ and so it was. They went hand in 
hand through life, making their pathway one of roses; 
she, ever in her sweet womanly way urging him on- 
ward and upward, toward the very height of fame, he 
ever aspiring to climb higher and higher, for her sweet 
sake. 

A few months later, one sweet moonlit night in the 
month of roses, a man and woman could be seen wan- 
dering in the grove near the house. It was a most pe- 
culiar night; at any other time they would have been 
lost in wonder and delight ; now they took no heed. 

The earth seemed to be growing dark while the 
light lingered in the sky. Masses of crimson clouds, 
edged with purple and gold, appeared to be making a 
bed for the sun. The roseate light seemed to linger 
among the trees and flowers. Silence reigned unbrok- 
en, and in the far distance the water of the lake shone 
like crimson and gold. It was one of those nights when 
darkness seems to come on in a few moments — when 
it descends swiftly and suddenly, as though the sky 
was falling and covering the earth. There was such 
deep silence among the trees as the two walked along 
side by side. To Lady Marie's excited fancy, it seemed 
that this was a mystical night, holding strange secrets 


88 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


and strange meanings. The grounds to Charlston 
Place were so wooded that behind the safe shelter of 
the tall trees, they could walk quite unseen and talk of 
the greatest secrets and not be heard. 

“Look!” said Lady Marie. “The red sun is fast 
descending.” 

“This is what I wish to see,” said Duke Gerald. 
“The moment in which the red sun seems to touch the 
water, a red gleam passes through it, then the next 
moment it is quite dark.” They watched in silence. 
The red sun as it set, seemed to touch the outer edge 
of the lake, a red gleam came over it, beautiful and 
curious, and then almost at once it became dark. 

“We will return to the castle by the coppice,” said 
Duke Gerald, “I have something I wish to say to 
you.” 

They were each alike guests of Sir Winton and 
Lady Charlston, and together they had strayed away 
from the other visitors for a half hour’s stroll, and a 
view of the illuminated waters of the lake. 

Duke Orloff had maneuvered to draw Lady Marie 
away from the other guests, alone with him, and had 
chosen the beautiful sunset on the lake, for the ren- 
dezvous. He wished to say something to her; and he 
felt that the swift darkness after the sunset would serve 
as a friendly screen for any emotion either of their 
faces might betray. As they walked slowly along 
through the night shadows, Duke Gerald spoke with 
intense emotion to the stately woman by his side. 

“What I want to say to you. Lady Marie, is this — 
I know your secret ; we both move in the same world ; 
I have solved the questions that interest you. Lady 
Marie, I have watched you, studied your every move, 
your every action — I can read your very heart — you 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


89 


love Sir Winton Charlston, and you seek to change his 
coldness, his indifference to liking or love for yourself 
— you hate his beautiful wife, Lady Marie, you hate 
her because Sir Winton loves her.” Despite all her 
self command, her face flushed, and her hands tightly 
clasped the lace scarf thrown about her shoulders. 

His words pierced a secret which she had striven to 
hide from every eye. The words stung all her arro- 
gant vanity into being. 

‘‘Do you suppose a love could live in my heart, one 
hour longer than I chose to grant it lease of life?” she 
replied, with all her most superb scorn and self-con- 
sciousness in arms. 

“But you have not conquered this love for Sir Win- 
ton, dear Marie.” She was silent, her eyes clouded 
with anger, her delicate teeth were set, her breath 
came quickly; she looked up suddenly at him, and 
said: 

“Suppose I do love him, suppose he is indifferent to 
me, and suppose I do hate his wife; what is my love, 
his indifference to me, and my hatred of her, to you, 
Duke Orloff?” 

He paused a moment, then answered with an ef- 
fort : 

“There are not many such men as he, Sir Winton; 
moreover, he has been once betrayed, and this fact 
would be sufficient to make him hate a coquette, an 
unfaithful wife. Let him think she has fallen from the 
high estate of pure womanhood, that she can never be 
classed with the good, the pure and the innocent again, 
that she is a fallen star. Lead him to believe that, but 
for the paltry distinction of money and richer rai- 
ment, there is no difference between her and the wom- 
an from whom all other women shrink ; that while she 


90 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


keeps up the appearance of something like sanctity, 
she is in reality, a very Magdalene. Let him once be- 
lieve that while she is his lawful, wedded wife, pre- 
tending to love him, she loves another — another loves 
her.’' 

The south wind moaned soft and low, amid the 
swaying branches of the trees above them. In after 
years. Lady Marie thought of this night, with bitter, 
repentant tears. When the Duke had ceased speaking, 
there was silence for a moment; Lady Marie did not 
speak at first, did not look at him; her face was pale 
as death, her hand trembled. She strove to raise her 
hand to arrange a stray lock of hair; — it was to gain 
time, breath and thought. 

Suddenly she raised her head; she was amazed; ‘T 
understand your words, your grace; but how could 
such a thing be possible? He loves her, trusts her; 
she is good and pure and loves only him. I do hate 
her, Duke Gerald, but I do not understand you.” 

‘‘Acknowledge to me, Marie, that you do love Sir 
Winton, that I read your heart and mind correctly, 
then I will explain to you all,” said the Duke, as he 
grasped her arm. Lady Marie was frightened; but 
no rapid, frank reply came from her lips. 

“Speak, Marie! trust me, tell me: I know all, but 
you must tell it to me !” 

A great, overwhelming fear came over her, she 
knew of Duke Gerald’s vagaries, follies and sins; but 
she also knew that she loved Sir Winton, and hated 
Lady Candace for winning him. Had she not prayed 
and longed for her downfall, to see her crushed? As 
she thought of it all, her slighted love, her Hatred of 
Candace, her fierce longing for revenge overcame the 
feeling of pity for this really innocent woman, that 
for a few moments stole into her heart. 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


91 


‘‘I will be placing myself in this man’s power,” she 
thought, “but I will get revenge on her. Some dis- 
eases require a sharp knife, and so it will be in this 
case of moral disease. It will require a sharp, mer- 
ciless weapon, and I could not have a better accom- 
plice than the Duke of Orloff. But to gain knowledge, 
I must trust him.” They had left the deepest shadows, 
and passed the coppice, and emerged into an opening. 

“Yes, Duke of Orloff, I have made up my mind to 
trust you.” She raised her eyes to him as she spoke. 
“You have promised to help me, your grace, so now for 
my confession — I do love Sir Winton, I do hate his 
wife; you read my heart aright.” 

“I am glad you trusted me,” and he smiled as he 
looked at her; the fact was, he had watched every 
movement of her face, he saw she was not altogether 
heartless, she did not enjoy cruelty, but as her way 
to what she wanted lay over a woman’s broken heart, 
she must perforce help break it — there was no help for 
it, the end she had in view was worth any sacrifice, 
any trouble. 

Marie waited for a few moments in silence ; she was 
struck by the pale and anxious expression of Gerald’s 
face. He was quite unlike his usual self; the silence 
was broken at last, as he said : 

“Lady Marie, as you love Sir Winton Charlston, so 
do I love his wife, Lady Candace. As you long for 
his love, I crave hers — I would move Heaven and earth 
to win one such loving smile and caress as she gives to 
Sir Winton. I would give my life, my wealth, my 
Dukedom — my all — even my hopes in the life beyond, 
the life to come, — for her love. 

“It will take delicate management, it will take time; 
if we can get him to look upon her with suspicion, with 

7 


92 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


contempt, it will crush her; she will turn from him, 
and his love for her will grow into hate. Many a heart 
is caught on the rebound; I will endeavor to capture 
hers. Now do you understand. Lady Marie?” 

Triumph flashed in the eyes of Lady Marie. Here 
was a really beautiful woman, nobly born, who was 
risking her life, her all, upon one throw — a triumph 
that should have crushed her with shame. She did not 
speak for a few moments, lest her voice betoken how 
elated she felt. 

Duke of Orloff had had many loves, but was never 
constant for very long. He would go to a ball, meet 
there the loveliest girl that ever drove man to dis- 
traction with her smiles, fall in love with her, ask for 
a flower she wore, and select her, queen of his heart, — 
linger by her side, loath to leave her, then dance and 
talk together; he is hopelessly in love. Three days af- 
terward, her very name was forgotten — that was what 
he called love — a light, laughing, graceful, airy come- 
dy. But when he met Lady Charlston, an unholy, 
uncontrollable infatuation took possession of his heart. 
Because her love seemed a thing unattainable, because 
she was more beautiful than any woman he had ever 
seen, served but to deepen his longing and make him 
all the more determined to win her. 

Duke Gerald’s moral training had not been good; 
his mother had died at his birth, and his father’s death 
occurred when he was a stripling of sixteen ; no gentle, 
loving hand had trained him. He was left with excel- 
lent guardians, and had received a splendid education ; 
but no man can give the same training as a gentle, 
pious, devoted mother. 

His faults had grown with him, no mother’s hand 
had pruned them ; as a boy he was proud, as a man he 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


93 


was arrogant — as a boy he disliked control, as a man 
he would not tolerate it; as a boy he was capable of 
resentment, as a man this grew into a fever of ven- 
geance. 

He had a fine well cultivated mind; he was an ex- 
cellent scholar ; he was a man who would have shone in 
Parliament. But he had never been trained to curb a 
desire, or deny himself one thing that he wished for, 
he had never had a wish unfulfilled. His iron will 
would have its way at all hazards. 

Step by step these two wicked hearts planned to tread 
upon this dangerous and perilous path; there was no 
one to tell them that they were slowly going to their 
doom; that the path led to the precipice, although 
strewn with flowers; they could not see the yawning 
gulf ; they never thought of the old heathenish adage, 
— “Whom the gods would destroy, they first make 
mad.” They went on to their doom, and so another 
link in the chain of circumstance was forged and 
clasped. 

The picture gallery at Charlston Place contained 
some grand old pictures, works of old masters and 
some fine new ones. The collection of these pictures 
had been carried on by the heirs of Charlston Place 
for many generations; they had all a taste and love 
for fine art. This gallery also held some famous 
copies of the world’s great statues, a Venus of Milo, 
Hercules, Apollo and Hebe. The floor was covered 
with rich crimson carpet, and the ceiling was artistic- 
ally decorated. 

The gallery at Charlston Place was a favorite 
lounge ; from the windows one had a broad and beauti- 
ful view of the country. The jardenieres were filled 
with rarest flowers ; there could be no more pleasant 
spot. 


94 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


“I like this gallery,” said Candace, as they entered. 
“There is no place so bright and cheerful, and indeed 
there is no place like it, think you, Winton?” 

“It is very pleasant and comfortable here,” replied 
Sir Winton. 

“Even though I come here alone, I always have so 
much company, all those faces looking down upon one 
— they almost seem to speak or smile — they seem like 
living things, Winton. 

“Do you know, I often come here just to gaze at this 
picture of you? It is such a perfect likeness, it is su- 
perb !” 

Sir Winton smiled as he replied, “Can you not, dar- 
ling, see enough of my living face, that you must come 
here to gaze upon the one on this canvas?” A faint 
blush overspread her face as she earnestly answered: 

“Ah! Winton, you do not understand, dear; there 
is something about this picture of yours — it is not that 
it is a masterpiece of art, it is not its superb frame — it 
is the eyes, they always beckon me to come — to linger, 
to look long and lovingly at them, they touch my heart, 
Winton, and seem to be trying to tell me strange things. 
I had it hung here, so that it might have the best light 
in the gallery,” and Lady Candace stood before the 
picture, looking at it with intent, eager eyes. As she 
stood by her husband’s side, her dress of pale blue 
velvet swept the rich crimson carpet, her golden head 
was bent, her face full of rapt thought. Her husband 
looked and thought her the fairest picture there. 

The painting on which she gazed was indeed mag- 
nificent ; there was the handsome, patrician face ; deep- 
est love depicted in the smiling gray eyes ; intellect and 
beauty imprinted upon the noble brow ; the tender, yet 
proud lips were set in a smile ; she was looking intently 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


96 


into the pictured face while her own had grown pale, 
almost distressed. 

Sir Winton seeing this, gently put his arms around 
her, and drawing her to him, said : 

‘‘Candace, darling, I am almost inclined to be jeal- 
ous of my own picture — look at me and smile, sweet- 
heart. The picture seems to make you sad, despond- 
ent,” and as they turned again to look at the pictured 
face, Candace replied: 

“Yes, Winton, it does have a peculiar attraction for 
me. It draws me to it, I seem to see strange shadows 
flit over the face, I have a presentiment that some day 
it will be the dearest treasure I have ; that it will be to 
me like a living friend.” 

“Hush, Candace, come and sing for me. You are 
growing sad, fanciful — I cannot afford to lose my 
bright, sunny wife.” And they went hand in hand 
to the music room, where Candace brightened up and 
delighted his ear with tremulous sweet sounds. 

“Do you know, Winton, your taste is just like Aunt 
Josephine’s. She liked all those quiet, imaginative 
songs, and so do you, and so do I,” she laughingly 
added. She ceased talking, and began the song, sing- 
ing exquisitely, in a low dreamful tone, one of the 
ballads from the opera of the Bohemian Girl, “When 
Other Lips;” the chorus and the accompaniment died 
away gradually into silence. “There, Winton,” she 
said, leaning her head back against him, and looking 
at him with her upturned face, “You should pay me.” 

He did pay her, as holding the dear face to him he 
took from it many impassioned kisses. Then they 
made their way to the drawing-room to receive their 
expected guests to dinner. 

One by one the guests came : Lady Claudia Vincent, 


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A LADY OF FRANCE 


superb in a rich dress of amber silk; Lady Marie, 
stately in an elegant gown of white silk, shot with pal- 
est gold; Lady Westhall, Lady Marie’s mother, looking 
the grand, stately dame that she was, in rich dress of 
ruby velvet, with diamonds gleaming upon her breast, 
her arms and her hands. Lord Lionel Belmont was 
announced, and as he entered, his proud manly bear- 
ing, like that of a young Apollo, and his noble manly 
face, so purely patrician deepened the conviction in the 
hearts of those about him that this son of the realm 
was a king among men. 

He came up to greet Lady Candace, and in the 
knightly, handsome face, one could read adoration, 
love, pure and holy; and then came Duke Gerald of 
Orloff, and as he greeted his host and hostess, many 
of the guests said to one another: 

^What a handsome, distinguished looking man is 
Duke Orloff!” But a keen observer of faces could 
have traced on his the outlines of grievous faults to 
mar the beauty. It was not a kind face, or a face to 
trust; there was the self-will, mingled with his haughty 
pride; selfishness and a too gay life, had marred its 
beauty, yet power was written upon the white brow. 
It was he who took Lady Candace in to dinner, Sir 
Winton following with Lady Claudia, Lord Lionel 
Belmont with Lady Westhall, and Duke of Laleham 
with Lady Marie. 

The dinner passed pleasantly. The moonlight shone 
in silvery radiance through the open windows, and the 
spirit of mirth and light-heartedness was general 
among the guests during the entire dinner hour. 

When the gay party had returned to the drawing- 
room, Sir Winton spoke of the great beauty of the 
night. 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


97 


“The moonlight is beautiful; to my thinking, it 
would be treason to remain in-doors. Let us go and 
see the lake, the fountains, and the beech-woods by 
the light of Diana.” Then he murmured the wonder- 
ful lines of Ben Johnson: 

“Queen and huntress, chaste and fair, 

Now the sun is laid to sleep. 

Seated in thy silvery chair. 

State in wonted manner keep.” 

It was not in human nature to resist the temptation 
to sentimentalize among the flowers. Candace looked 
up into the face of Duke Orloff, who stood by her 
side, and with laughing eyes said: 

“I hope you will choose a pleasant companion, your 
grace.” 

The Duke could not resist the fire of those dark 
eyes ; quickly he replied : 

“Will you accompany me, Lady Charlston? I shall 
then be sure of a delightful companion.” Candace 
seeing Sir Winton place a scarf about Lady Marie’s 
shoulders, and thinking he was going with her, said 
brightly : 

“Yes, thank you, I will go with you.” 

“You will have need of a wrap ; the air will be chilly 
down by the lake.” 

A servant brought a wrap of dark, rich sable, and 
never had Candace’s stately loveliness been seen to 
greater advantage than when the Duke, with an ad- 
miring glance at her fair, white arms, placed it about 
her shoulders. 

They strolled down the avenue of tall, silver beech- 
wood trees, where the moonbeams made their leaves 
look like silver, down to the pretty, sparkling lake. It 


98 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


was indeed a sight worth seeing ; like living fire gleamed 
the distant waters. They all watched in silence, lost 
in the beauty of the scene. 

^‘How beautiful is the lake tonight,” said Lord Bel- 
mont to Lady Vincent. ' “Sir Winton and Lady 
Charlston must love this place.” 

“It is indeed, an entrancing scene,” replied Lady 
Claudia, “but look. Lord Belmont, could anything of 
beauty compare with the divine loveliness of its beau- 
tiful mistress?” 

Lord Belmont turned at Claudia’s bidding, and his 
heart almost ceased its beating when he saw Candace 
standing in the bright moonlight, in her long, close- 
fitting dress of palest blue velvet, diamonds glistening 
in her golden hair and on her fair breast and arms. 
Her dark, deep smiling eyes, so full of love and hap- 
piness, the rich cloak of sables, lying loosely about 
the white shoulders, made her look — well, I am lost 
for a comparison. As Lord Belmont watched, he 
saw Duke Gerald standing by her side talking. 

Something in the face of Gerald made Lord Bel- 
mont long to strike him to the earth. He, Lord Bel- 
mont could not understand why this feeling should 
take possession of him, but he could hardly refrain 
from going over to him, and knocking him down; — 
in time to come, he knew why he had felt so toward 
Gerald, and sometimes he blamed himself that he did 
not follow his inclination, but to Lady Claudia, he 
said: 

“Yes, she is very fair! A noble woman nobly 
planned !” 

Candace laughed at something her companion said, 
a sweet, musical laugh, that stirred the blood in Lord 
Lionel’s veins. 


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99 


“Look !” continued Lady Claudia, with a smile upon 
her lips, as in sympathy with the happy laughter of 
Lady Charlston; “look at the grand contour of her 
head and neck. The crown of beautiful hair, looks like 
spun gold in the bright moonlight, the clear outline 
of the figure — her beauty is matchless.” 

Lord Belmont looked in amazement at Claudia, and 
smiled as he said : 

“Do you know it is a rare thing. Lady Claudia, to 
hear one beautiful woman sing another’s praises; you 
are indeed a beauty worshiper.” 

“It is not that I love beauty so much. Lord Belmont, 
but how could one help loving Lady Charlston ?” and to 
himself he said : 

“Yes, true enough; 'how could one?’ ” 

“To see her laughing face,” continued Lady 
Claudia, “and learn how good she is — to see her puri- 
ty and nobility of character, one can not help loving 
her.” As they watched her for a moment as she still 
stood talking to Duke Gerald, she dropped her sweet 
eyes that had looked as though they were fresh from 
reading the truths of Heaven. She was listening to 
the Duke still, as he conversed with her in low, earnest 
tones. 

There was something more than mere striking love- 
liness of form and feature about her, and the con- 
sciousness of it struck them; — an undescribable some-' 
thing, a glory of truth and innocence, a reflection of 
God’s owm light that tinged the worship her loveliness 
commanded with a touch of reverential awe. 

“The angels must look like that.” But he had no 
time to think further, for the next moment she had 
come up to him and was speaking to him in a soft 
voice, the tones of which went ringing on through all 
the changes of his life. 


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A LADY OF FRANCE 


As for Gerald, Duke of Orloff, he was the first time 
in his life deeply in love. He lost sight of everything 
except Lady Charlston. He owned to himself that he 
loved no other, and that he had no other end in view, 
no other aim in life, save the winning of her love. It 
mattered little to him that she was the devoted wife 
of another. 

They met continually. The first thought he had in 
the morning, was how often it would be possible for 
him to meet her every day. They met in the park, 
at the opera, in ball-rooms, theaters, at garden parties, 
and concert. Wherever beautiful Lady Charlston 
appeared, there Duke of Orloff was to be found. 

Lady Marie, kept him informed as to Candace’s ar- 
rangements for the day — what ball, opera, concert, or 
garden party she would attend. Daily he was more 
charmed with her ; her deeper qualities as they revealed 
themselves, her lovely, changeful moods, — each one 
seemed sweeter to him than the last. 

Her wit, sunshiny laughter, gay repartee, all alike 
charmed him, he had seen no one like her ; he thought 
her peerless; he resolved to have her; no difference 
whether by fair or foul means, he must possess her love. 

As for Lady Candace, never dreaming of the dark, 
mad love, she felt there was no cloud in her sky — her 
cup was filled with happiness, even to the running over. 
She grew more beautiful if possible, every day, and 
was wholly absorbed in her husband’s interests. Her 
love for him was deep, pure and unalterable. 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


101 


CHAPTER Xlir 

Lady Marie Westhall wept through many long 
hours, wept for the overthrow of her hopes and her 
love — wept for the life that lay in ruins around her, 
for the future that was to have no love and was to be 
spent without him whom she loved. 

It had not only been a blow of the keenest and cru- 
elest kind to her affections, but it was the cruelest 
blow her vanity could have possibly received. To think 
that she, who had more admirers at her feet than any 
woman in London, should have failed ; that her beauty, 
her grace, her wit, her talent should all have been lav- 
ished upon him, and lavished in vain. 

She caught sight of her tear-stained face as she 
passed the mirror, and thereupon sought to remove all 
traces of the storm of grief through which she had 
just passed. She recalled that Sir Winton had told 
her that she was beautiful, so had Candace ; she knew 
that they both admired her. So much granted. Was 
it possible that he should learn to love her; would he, 
when he learned to think his now beautiful, loved wife, 
a low, degraded woman, turn to her. Lady Marie ? 

After thus weighing and considering every possi- 
bility, she determined to take courage. In the ability 
of Duke Gerald (to carry out their schemes) she was 
confident, and besides, his sincerity of purpose she 
could not doubt, for she knew his love for Sir Win- 
ton’s wife was as fierce, as deep, as mad as her own 
for Sir Winton. 

‘T will persevere,” she reflected, ‘'my great love 


102 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


must in time prevail, I will devote my life uiiweariedly 
to it.” But she did not know “Love is Fate,” that there 
was nothing in common between them — none of those 
mystical chords that once touched, set two human 
hearts throbbing, and never rest until they are one. 

She strove perhaps as much as any woman had 
ever before striven; she succeeded in winning his ad- 
miration, his friendship, but there it ended, she could 
win no more. It was not his fault, it was simply be- 
cause the electric spark, called love, had not been and 
never could be elicited between his soul and hers. 

Her manner completely deceived everyone; if she 
had evinced the least pique, discontent, avoidance, or 
jealous hatred for his wife, or had she, by word, or 
look, showed the least resentment, society would have 
suspected she cared for him ; but as it was they would 
not have believed it, even if any one had told them. 

Where Sir Winton and Lady Candace went. Lady 
Marie was generally invited to go with them. Lady 
Charlston had a liking for Lady Marie, and besides 
she was Winton’s friend. She was too noble and gen- 
erous herself to feel any i^uch ignoble passion as jeal- 
ousy; she was far too confiding. To be jealous of 
her husband would have never entered her mind; nor 
was there occasion for her to be, for every throb of 
love in Sir Winton’s heart was for his wife, Candace. 

More than any one thing else. Lady Charlston en- 
joyed the opera. For any one to enjoy the gorgeous 
scene portrayed in the opera of “Marie Stuart,” did not 
require either a special musical taste or enthusiasm. 
The famous Patti was to fill the role of that unhappy 
Scottish Queen. Years afterward, Candice remem- 
bered that night as the happiest perhaps in her life. 
As she sat in her private box with Sir Winton, she 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


103 


looked around her with a sensation of triumph. The 
soft, silvery laughter of women, mingled with the deep 
voices of men, and indeed her own bright presence, was 
sufficient to keep any company in a state of animation. 

She sat by Sir Winton’s side. Lady Claudia Vincent, 
Lady Marie Westhall, Duke of Orloff, and Duke of 
Laleham, occupying their box with them. Many were 
the admiring glances cast at the three beautiful women. 

The whole passion and poetry of Candace’s soul was 
aroused by the power of song; she lost herself, she al- 
most forgot her own identity, in the glamour, and 
witchery of the hour. 

Lady Claudia looked very lovely in a dress of white 
lace, trimmed with crimson roses. Lady Marie was 
beautiful and stately in a gown of pale pink silk and 
lace ; the bouquet she held was of roses and lilies of the 
valley. 

Lady Charlston was radiantly beautiful in white vel- 
vet, and a superb suite of diamonds. Light seemed to 
ripple around her, and center in her; the sheen of her 
golden hair, the light of her diamonds, the soft rich- 
ness of her dress, and the dainty bloom on her fair 
face, were all irresistible. 

The fair face and golden hair looked almost angelic, 
framed by the deep crimson velvet of the operr box. 
Once when the exquisite plaint of Marie Stuart died 
away in a low, sweet sigh, Candace said to her hus- 
band, ‘Ts it not beautiful? That realm of music and 
song ? How it takes one to another world.” 

^‘Indeed it does,” replied Sir Winton thoughtfully. 
“After all, Candace, it is the loves and sorrows of men 
and women that gives the theme to the artists. What 
we see upon the stage is all taken from our world — 
it represents what has passed or what might have 
passed.” 


104 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


“I should never sing my sorrows,” remarked Clau- 
dia, “if I should have any. Do you think, Sir Charls- 
ton, that Marie Stuart killed her husband? is really 
guilty of his death? 

“I do not know, I do not think so, or at least I hope 
not,” replied Sir Winton. 

“If she was lovely, graceful and accomplished and 
clever, as history says she was, I should not wonder at 
it. Imagine such a woman, tied for life, to a grace- 
less, coarse, horrible man like Darnley. You need not 
look shocked, Candace, I am not advocating murder — 
I only say that I do not wonder at it,” added Lady 
Marie. 

“She should have thought before she married him; 
marriage is for life,” replied Duke of Laleham, “she 
must have known what he was like.” 

“Then you think any woman, who wilfully marries 
a man she knows to be coarse and violent, deserves her 
fate, as did this unhappy Scottish Queen,” replied Can- 
dace. 

Most assuredly she does,” replied Duke of Lale- 
ham. “How can anyone doubt it? It is easily under- 
stood ; it is part of the great scheme of creation that men 
should be superior — the head of nations and house- 
holds. It is a part of that same scheme that women 
should respect, honor and obey; how can a delicate, 
refined woman honor and obey a man she sees is her 
inferior?” 

“Then you think a woman should only marry when 
she honors and esteems?” questioned Candace. 

“Certainly I think so,” he replied. 

“And right you are,” joined in Sir Winton. “True, 
pure, holy love, honor and respect, is the only road to 
happy, prosperous marriage. Scheming, ill-gotten 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


105 


love, marrying for position, are all alike dross. They 
melt and vanish, and usually recoil upon the tres- 
passer’s own head, to break their own hearts or ruin 
their own lives.” 

Lady Marie cast a quick, furtive glance at Duke Or- 
lofif, and in return he gave her a look of undaunted 
courage, as much as to say that he, for one, did not be- 
lieve as Sir Winton, and that they, who fought the 
hardest even though they trod upon human hearts, 
would conquer and win and remain winners. 

, Candace was young with an imagination both quick 
and vivid. Music and song seemed to expand her very 
soul. Because her life was so full of beauty and love, 
^er soul soared upward, and for a time she seemed to 
leave this earth and touch the very portals of Heaven 
— the power of music and song had carried her into 
oblivion. 

Besides Sir Winton, whose attention never lapsed 
there were two persons intently watching this expres- 
sive face; two who were trying to read the deep 
thought there. 

When the sad plaints of music fell upon her ears, 
great tears of sympathy gathered in the glorious eyes ; 
then when the melody broke into a happier, brighter 
strain, a most bewitching smile lighted up the lovely 
face. 

Lady Marie Westhall could scarcely contain herself 
as she looked on her fair opponent’s triumph. She 
writhed at the homage paid her; she felt all Hell’s 
torments as innumerable tokens of admiration were 
bestowed on her. Duke of Laleham looked at Lady 
Marie in wonder; she seemed so unlike herself — ab- 
sent, brooding, almost sullen. The smiles, the anima- 
tion, the vivacity, the brilliant repartee that had so dis- 
tinguished her had vanished. 


106 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


More than once he asked her if she were ill? The 
answer was always “No.” He asked her if she was 
tired, or unhappy? The answer was the same, “No.” 

“You must not lose your spirits, your bright ani- 
mation, Lady Marie,” he returned, “they are your 
chief charms.” 

“No one has ever found fault with my spirits be- 
fore,” said Mari^" “You are not complimentary, your 
grace.” 

“Do not, I pray you, be offended,” he observed, 
“but you give me such a strange impression. Lady 
Marie. Of course it is liighly ridiculous, but if I did 
not know you as well as I do, I should think you had 
something' on your mind — some secret that was making 
you unhappy; that there was a struggle always going 
on between something you would like to do, and some- 
thing, which, if you allow yourself to think about, you 
are unwilling to do. It is an absurd idea, I know, yet 
it has taken possession of me.” 

She laughed, but there was little, if any, music in the 
sound. 

“What imaginative powers you have, your grace. 
You would make your fortune as a novelist. What 
can there be to make me unhappy? Do you imagine 
any woman in the world has a lot more brilliant than 
mine? See how young I am, how entirely I have my 
own way. Could any one, do you think, be more 
happy than I ?” 

“No, perhaps not,” he replied, “I repeat it, it is an 
absurd idea that has taken possession of me.” 

The other who watched the lovely face of Candace 
throughout the evening was Gerald, Duke of Orloff. 
There was something in his proud, defiant face that re- 
vealed a soul much moved. Realizing that Candace 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


107 


was a woman set apart from all other women, by her 
beauty, her grace, her spirituelle nature, he more than 
ever was fascinated. The.entire evening he saw it was 
a certain fact that the wonderful face in the opera box 
attracted more attention than did the play on the stage. 

Her opera box res^bled a fair more than anything 
else. Every man of note was seen there ; they came and 
went, each in his turn receiving 2u bright smile, a 
few words from the queen of the season, and they 
were content. He saw* that she bore her honors sweet- 
ly and with meekness, she gave it to all who came; 
she had a pleasant message for each and every one. 

Duke Gerald felt that he had almost reached the 
limit of human forbearance, while he stood engrossed in 
the idol of his passion. Animosity, more savage than 
ever, he felt towards Sir Winton because of her devo- 
tion to him. But control his mood he must, else his 
heart would betray him. 

When the opera was over, he bade them good-night, 
and as he .turned and left them, they each noticed how 
silent and dark his face appeared. He went home and 
shut himself in his study ; he had given peremptory or- 
ders that he was not to be disturbed ; until far into the 
night he paced the room. 

'Xife is nothing but a battle field !” he thinks. “Some 
soldiers remain unscathed, some are wounded to the 
very death — I am of they who carry the deadliest 
wound, but, so help me Heaven, the day will come 
when the wound will be healed with her love, and I 
must, and will rush on into the fray.” 

He felt exhausted with the tumult of his own pas- 
sions ; he could rebel and wage war no more, he would 
win, he would sacrifice body and soul to win. 

“Rest !” the very word was mockery to him. • His 


108 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


heart beat with great, painful throbs, every pulse 
seemed to have the force and strength of a steam ham- 
mer. ‘‘Rest !’^ why, every nerve shook — in after years, 
there were many who said Duke of Orloff was mad; 
if it were so, then his madness dated from this hour. 
Yes, it must have been madness not to stem the tide 
of events while he could; madness to allow such an 
overwhelming love to take possession of his heart; 
madness not to quench the fiery passion, madness to 
house it for a day. 

But such fiery, passionate, arrogant and impulsive 
natures as Duke Gerald’s, are doomed to undergo al- 
most the very pangs of death ; an ordeal where the dross 
is separated from what little pure gold there may be in 
the soul. Just now the gold of his soul lay so hidden 
by the dross, that it must needs have a mighty fire for 
the refining process, 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


109 


CHAPTER XIV 

The drawing-room of Stamfield House did not at all 
resemble the general run of London drawing-rooms. 

It had three large windows, and the hangings were of 
pale blue velvet. There was no over-profusion of or- 
nament, — some priceless Rose-Du-Berr china, a jew- 
elled tazza, a golden vase, a few superb water colors, 
and a magnificent painting by one of the old masters 
representing Queen Esther before the King. Esther’s ' 
face was full of beauty, while more beautiful still was 
the face of Queen Vashti, seen in the background, 
humbled and discrowned, yet still a Queen. It was 
Lady Charlston’s favorite picture; she liked the con- 
trast between the two faces — Esther’s, so sweet and 
winning, yet with all the timidity of a great love in it 
— Vashti’s full of proud, passionate despair. 

Anyone entering this room, could have told that the 
deep red rose was the favorite flower of its mistress. 
They were growing in every stage; the superb jarde- 
nieres were filled with them — it was a fitting shrine for 
an admirable woman. The moment the doors were 
opened, a breath from the blossoms seemed to greet 
the visitor. Lady Charlston did wisely to associate 
herself with so charming a flower. Tall palms and 
pretty fountains stood here and there; it was more a 
room in an Eastern palace than a modern English 
drawing-room. 

Candace sat here now, awaiting the coming of her 
husband, who had been on a short journey on the con- 
tinent concerning political matters. Her heart beat 


110 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


quickly as the time drew near for his coming. She sat 
in her favorite chair, gracefully carved, low, and 
framed in pale blue velvet. When her golden head re- 
clined on it, the blue and the gold made a divine har- 
monized color. 

She was dressed with greatest skill and taste, because 
she knew just what suited her bright beauty best. She 
wore a long, loose robe of white satin, edged and 
trimmed with dark fur, which enhanced its whiteness. 
It was rather a strange gown, but the satin sheen, so 
pure and soft, and the dusky furs made a combination 
which would have charmed a painter. 

Her throat was bare, as the open collar of her gown 
left it, and she wore no ornaments. Her hair, in its 
waving luxuriance, had neither jewel nor flower. While 
waiting for her lord and master she fell to musing over 
the two queens, as to whether there was great rivalry 
between them. 

Sir Winton’s footsteps sounded in the corridor lead- 
ing to the drawing-room; his impatience was great; 
he well knew she whom he adored was impatiently 
awaiting his coming, and his heart was filled with 
eagerness to meet her. He passed a beautiful statue 
of Psyche which stood in the corridor, with a basket of 
fragrant crimson roses at her feet. Sir Winton had 
always loved this statue because of its grand lines and 
noble contour; in the arch of the beautiful neck and 
sloping shoulders it reminded him of Candace; he 
paused a moment a-nd looked at it ; now he could have 
kissed the cold, white marble for the very love of her. 

The next moment he stood before her. “Have I 
kept you waiting, darling? Have you been making 
un-bout-de-toilette — you little coquette?” he asked 
smiling, as he took her in his arms, and pressed kiss 
after kiss upon the beautiful, upturned face. 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


111 


‘‘What a beautiful gown, dearest; how good it is 
to see your sweet face again, Candace. I am like Un- 
dine, the water spirit — I have found my soul, and my 
soul is you. When I am away from you, darling, my 
soul seems separated from my body, I cannot rest,’’ 
says Sir Winton. 

“I have been told that it was impossible to be per- 
fectly happy in this world, but I think, Winton, that we 
are living contradictions of that assertion — I am per- 
fectly happy,” she added, as she* lovingly laid her arm 
around his neck, “and you?” 

“Happy. Why need you ask, Candace?” he an-' 
swered, and the atmosphere around them seemed il- 
luminated by the golden sun of content. He sat down 
in the chair she had occupied, and drew her fondly 
down to a pile of cushions beside his chair, keeping 
his arm about her. 

She sat by his chair, her head resting against his 
shoulder ; the long folds of satin and fur lay upon the 
carpet ; the fragrance of the roses, so sweet and heavy, 
filled the air. It was a beautiful home picture, what- 
ever thoughts it suggested to Winton were the most 
pleasant, for a smile of perfect happiness lay upon his 
brow. 

It was his home, the beautiful woman at his side his 
wife; he listened attentively to the music of her dear, 
familiar voice lulling him to rest. 

“Yes, rest.” It was the first he had known since 
leaving her one week ago that night. She was his very 
soul ; out of her dear presence his very heart beat out 
of tune. 

“How is it, Candace, that we are alone, and you are 
not going out this evening?” 

“We had no less than six invitations to diflerent 


112 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


balls this evening/^ she replied, '^but I could not decide 
which to accept, and besides, I would much rather 
remain at home with you, Winton. The idea of danc- 
ing, instead of filling me with delight as it generally 
does, tired me. I could not imagine myself bowing, 
laughing, talking and dancing tonight — we shall be 
happier, here at home, Winton.'’ He kissed the beau- 
tiful face, as he answered : 

‘We should be happy anywhere, together.” 

‘T shall cherish the memory of these words all my 
life long, my husband,” she said. 

“Now, will you play for me, Candace? Music, is 
music twice over, when one hears it in the gloaming.” 

She went at once to the piano and played all those 
beautiful old oratorio airs, he liked so well. He was 
quite silent, but she felt sure he was enjoying the grand 
old airs, for he lay back in his chair with eyes closed. 

Then she played the one he loved best with these 
words in it, “While I have eyes, he wants no light.” 
He was so silent after that that she went up to him ; he 
opened his eyes; they were heavy with tears — real 
tears — 

“Winton, what is it, have I made you sad? I will 
not play for you again if it is so.” 

“Candace,” he said, “a strange, uncontrollable feel- 
ing came over me, a feeling that I should some day 
leave you — a feeling of depression. I felt my heart 
stop beating, my soul seemed to leave my body — I felt 
as though I could almost hear the angels singing. Do 
not look alarmed, darling ; it is nothing.” 

“Are you perfectly well, Winton?” 

“Yes, Candace, I never felt better.” 

“Then it is my music that made you sad ; I will not 
play for you again in the gloaming.” 


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113 


‘‘It is nothing/' he said, “we will forget it.” 

In after days, the evening seemed like a dream to 
her. They went down the broad, marble steps, and 
together they wandered through the grounds in the 
cool, moonlit evening. 

As they stood there together in the presence of 
Heaven, there was not one thought in the, mind of one 
that did not belong to the other, not one faint blot on 
their hearts, or on their love, to mar their happiness or 
cloud their souls. 


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CHAPTER XV 

Sir Winton Charlston became seriously ill; the end 
of it for a long time no one could foresee. The physi- 
cians attendipg him could give no hope ; Candace never 
left his side. Paragraphs filled the papers to the effect 
that Right Hon. Sir Charlston must die, and the coun- 
try people told each other how sad it was, that so bril- 
liant a man as Sir Winton must give up his place in the 
world. 

Sir Winton had read the opinions of the doctors in 
their faces ; he lovingly drew Candace’s face to his own 
and said, ‘*Am I to die, darling? I saw it today, in 
Dr. Richards’ face — am I to die? Oh, I could not — 
darling wife, I could not die and leave you.” 

Every particle of color receded from Candace’s face ; 
her gentle lips touched his pale face; sweet loving 
•words of comfort she whispered to him ; the nurse and 
physician looked at her with pitying eyes as they re- 
entered the sick-room; Candace saw and understood, 
her eyes grew almost wild with terror, her breath 
seemed to stop, she felt as if she were suffocating ; she 
cried out wildly to the doctor : 

‘‘Save him — Oh, save him, I love him so !” she threw 
herself upon her knees and offered one prayer for him 
that touched and melted the heart of every one who 
heard into sympathy for the sad-hearted young wife. 
They gently took and led her away, telling her that 
excitement and the sight of her grief and distress would 
excite and possibly bring great harm to him; that she 
must be calm and hopeful. 


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115 


‘‘I am perfectly calm and quiet now, say that you 
will let me stay with him, doctor,” and involuntarily 
she clasped her hands in such a way that he could not 
resist her appeal. 

*‘Yes, you shall remain,” he replied in an unsteady 
voice; he knew Sir Winton had not long to live, and 
he felt that every living moment he had belonged to his 
wife. She returned to his bedside; she bent down to 
study his face; all, save for his exceeding pallor, was 
the same handsome, patrician face of him she loved 
so well. 

Tears rained over her face as she gazed at him, but 
she made no sound, silently wiping her tears away, 
while those watching her felt their hearts fill with pity 
with sympathy and longing to comfort her. 

She had made no outward sound, since her first 
agonized prayer, but “Save him — Oh, save him !” was 
whispered by the pale, trembling lips. 

In this hour of bitter pain and coming death, she 
stood like a guardian angel, ever by his side, clasping 
her hand in his. Suddenly his eyes opened, he looked 
into her face half frightened and said: 

“Candace — Candace — darling, can it be possible that 
God is going to separate us ? Oh, you who are so good, 
so true, pray for me. Pray to the God you love so well 
that I may stay with you. I — love you — sweetheart, 
so, so dearly, and I cannot leave you to battle with 
the cold, cruel world — oh, no! Heaven forbid. Are 
you praying, darling?” 

“Yes, Ah! yes, dearest, I am praying, praying so 
hard that you may be spared to me, but God seems so 
far away. Oh, why can I not reach Him, my heart is 
broken,” and raising her head she turned away with 
her tear-stained, agonized face, and said to the doctors 
standing near : 


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‘‘Oh, can’t you do something, can’t you help me?” 
They looked pityingly down on her grief-stricken, 
lovely face, but answered her never a word. 

No word they could utter would allay her grief and 
sorrow, for Sir Winton, as they had told her, was be- 
yond medical aid ; at most he had only a few days, per- 
haps hours, to live. Strong men as they were, accus- 
tomed to all things worldly and of the world, their 
hearts were touched and great tears of sympathy shone 
in their eyes. 

It was indeed pitiful to watch Sir Winton’s eyes 
fastened upon his young wife’s bowed head; in one 
hand he held both of hers tightly clasped, his other 
rested lovingly upon her head. Apparently, all his 
hopes for living were centered upon her, believing, it 
seemed, that God would hear her pitiful pleadings and 
spare him to her, but the practiced eye of the eminent 
physician knew but too well that he was failing rap- 
idly. 

Hour by hour, thus they remained, hand in hand — 
he ever urging her to always pray — she ever in her 
broken, sobbing voice, pleading with God to hear her. 
But as the sun began to set, the shadows of twilight 
stole softly through the windows and lingered about Sir 
Winton’s pillow, a gray deadly pallor spreading over 
his face as the shadows of twilight deepened. In a 
voice low and weak, he murmured : 

“Candace, where are you? Come closer, I cannot 
see you.” Candace, came closer. “Oh, yes, there you 
are; turn your sweet face so I can see you. Always 
remember, my darling wife, how well I loved you, 
better than my life, and that it is so bitter to leave you ! 
Will you, sweetheart?” 

“Yes, ah, yes,” she sobbed. 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


117 


“Come closer, put your arms around my neck — I 
am cold, dear — kiss me, my darling.” She kissed him 
long and lovingly. 

He smiled — ah, so peaceful, “Come closer, darling — 
clo-ser — do — ser.” The faint voice was hushed, the 
feeble pleadings had ceased. Sir Winton was dead, 
Candace gave one cry that was never to be forgotten 
by those who heard it and fell in a deadly swoon across 
his breast, one arm tightly entwined around his neck. 
Candace’s eyes closed to all outward things, but when 
after a long period of insensibility she opened them 
again, her languid gaze rested on the silken hangings 
of her bed, and then wandered around the room. 

A soft light was burning in the pretty, fragrant 
room ; a fire glowed in the grate, and near the shaded 
lamp sat Lady Marie watching eagerly for the return 
of consciousness to the grief-stricken wife. The maid, 
Jessica, gently and lovingly chafed her mistress’ pretty 
white hands. 

“You are stronger now, my Lady,” said Jessica 
tearfully. Candace let her eyes rest on her a moment, 
and then they wandered to Marie, who now drew near, 
and bending over her, kissed her upon the forehead. 

“Be calm, dear,” she said, as she saw Candace’s 
wild look of fear and anguish. 

“Oh! I remember — let me go,” said poor Candace. 
“Let me go to Winton. Oh, do not let them take him 
from me — don’t let them,” and her voice died away 
in an inarticulate murmur. Her head fell back upon 
her pillow — sight, sense and consciousness had again 
faded into a merciful darkness. 

The dawn found her there, still motionless, her 
loosened hair falling in pretty confusion upon her pil- 
low and shoulders. She felt cold and strangely feeble; 


118 


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she raised her hand and put away the falling hair from 
her face. 

She was calmer now, though still very pale; she 
felt that it would be far better to die than to live on 
without Sir Winton’s loving care and presence. She 
raised her poor, aching head from her pillow, and as 
she turned toward the dressing table she caught sight 
of her face in the mirror — she stared for a moment, 
hardly recognizing the face, it was so changed. 

Could it be that the face which looked back at her, 
framed in the falling hair, with a stern, rigid hope- 
lessness upon it — a dreadful calm — was it the same 
face which had so often smiled back at her, radiant, 
cloudless, lovely, triumphant in its beauty and its love ? 

As she thought of him who was more than her 
soul, lying so cold and still, she shivered, turned cold 
and nestled again closely among her pillows. 

The door opened, and Jessica gently entered; she 
came and stood by the bed. ‘‘You are better, really 
better, dear Lady?” 

“Oh, yes, really better, Jessica. I am so sorry I 
am better — I want to die too.” 

“Hush, my Lady, it grieves me so to hear you say 
such dreadful things.” 

“Marie!” exclaimed Candace, as Lady Marie en- 
tered and knelt beside Candace’s bed-side. Candace 
holds out two eager hands to her. 

“You are better, dear,” said Lady Marie, in a voice 
which was full of sweetness and sadness. 

“You are really better, I hope?” For answer Can- 
dace drew her face to hers and kissed her warmly. 
Marie returned the kiss a little shyly, while she shiv- 
ered at the tenderness bestowed upon her by Candace, 
whose happiness she had prayed so often to see marred. 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


119 


“I never could have told,” resumed Candace, in her 
same sweet, quiet voice, “how strong and true and 
tender you were, but for what happened! I think but 
for you, I should have died yesterday. It seemed two 
or three times my life was drifting away from me, 
and only your gentle hands and tender voice kept me 
here at all.” 

“We will not talk of it, dear,” urged Lady Marie 
gently, her lips quivering as she spoke. 

A shudder ran through Candace’s slender, droop- 
ing figure, and she raised her hand and pressed it to 
her eyes for a moment as she said: 

“It seems as if I can never bear it alone.” 

“You must lie quiet and rest, dear Candace; you 
must not talk, must not think, nothing but rest, rest; 
so says Dr. Richards,” and Candace gently closed her 
eyes, and turned her pale face away. 

They had set the body of the illustrious statesman. 
Sir Winton Charlston, in his own bed-chamber. In 
death his face was as chiseled marble and was still in- 
vested with the same dignity that was his in life ; there 
was no pain on the handsome face; the thick, dark 
eye-lashes lay like fringe on the white, marble-like 
cheeks. There was a strange calm and peace on the 
marble brow, and the proud lips were set in a smile. 
They draped the room in black, and tall wax tapers 
were kept burning around him ; fresh, fragrant flowers 
were strewn over him. 

Candace, on the morning of the day on which Sir 
Winton was to be laid in his last resting place, arose 
just at the dawn of day, and throwing a loose dressing- 
gown around herself, quietly slipped into the death 
chamber. 

All was still as night; she crept to the room and 


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A LADY OF FRANCE 


laid her aching, throbbing head on the cold, white 
breast. With the abandon of despair she exclaimed, 
‘‘No one shall keep me from you, dear. No, I will 
never leave you again alone.’^ She kissed the pale, cold 
lips that had murmured so many loving words to her, 
weeping as if her heart would break. 

Again and again she kissed the lips of him she loved 
so well. One could have fancied that a smile passed 
over the dead face. 

“Good-bye, my love,” she said, weeping piteously, 
“you are going to your cold, dark grave — I am going 
back to the world, now so dark and dreary without 
you, but I leave my heart with you, dearest ; it will be 
with you in your grave. Good-bye!” And so they 
found her and gently led her away, keeping close watch 
over her. 

The annals of the Charlston family tell of the mag- 
nificent funeral of Sir Winton; he was buried in the 
grand mausoleum at Mount Everett. Half the county 
was there, the train of mourning coaches seemed end- 
less, the band of mourners innumerable, and the people 
who watched the grand ceremony told each other how 
the young wife was prostrate with grief, and how Sir 
Winton had loved her. The funeral was one long to 
be remembered. All places of business, all public offices 
were closed, the city was in black, the streets were 
crowded with soldiers, citizens, horses and carriages, 
and the pride, pomp and respect to a highly honored 
and much loved man, was such as are given to princes. 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


121 


CHAPTER XVI 

Sir Winton Charlstoii is now laid away and for- 
ever at rest, and his place knew him no more. All 
England mourned for the dead statesman and never 
wearied of praising him, whilst the mantle of his great- 
ness fell upon Lord Belmont, whom people said would 
be their next great leader. 

Lady Charlston, his widow, stood aloof, as it were, 
from the highways of life, and suffered in silence. She 
sorrowed over Sir Winton with a grief that would 
not be comforted. There were times when her grief 
almost drove her mad, when she paced the room 
through the longest night, when she knelt, with hands 
clenched, in tearless agony, times when she tried to 
pray for strength and submission, but the words died 
upon her lips. 

It was at Charlston Place, their country home, that 
she lived alone with her grief and sorrow, spending 
many hours in the picture gallery communing with Sir 
Winton’s favorites. It seemed to her that her old pre- 
sentment had come true, the picture had become more 
than a living friend to her. It was the only place she 
found peace, it seemed still to tell her strange stories. 
It drew her to it, and had the power, as no living friend 
had, to bring the hot, blinding tears to her eyes, thus 
relieving her overtaxed brain. There was no trace of 
the brilliant Candace in the pale, sad woman who 
seemed hardly to have strength to live on. 

Lady Claudia Vincent was constantly with her. 

The yellow” drawing-room was one of the prettiest 


122 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


apartments at Charlston Place, and it is here we find 
the two beautiful women one bright morning, Lady 
Charlston seated upon a low chair, her golden head 
thrown back ; underneath her dark, sorrowful eyes lay 
great shadows; Claudia was kneeling upon the floor 
by her side. 

The two faces were each lovely, yet different en- 
tirely. Claudia, looking at Candace with something of 
the divine shining in her face, said : 

‘‘Candace, dear, trust me, speak to me, tell me of 
the sorrow shut up in your heart? It will help you, it 
will relieve your heart and brain; tell me, dear,’' she 
goes on pleadingly, “tell me all.” 

Candace looked down lovingly into the beautiful, 
pleading face, and her heart went out to her. 

“I do trust you, and I love you very much, but my 
sorrow seems so great — ask me about anything you 
will, except about him. Oh, Claudia, I loved him so 
much, I cannot bear to speak of it. Mine is a great, 
bitter sorrow; I feel that I am too weak to carry it 
alone.” 

“I will not ask you about him, or anything that will 
grieve you, dear,” said Claudia; “it must be sad in- 
deed ; and when you lost him whom you loved so well ; 
no greater sorrow could befall you. But listen, dear 
Candace; you will be happy with us after a while. 
I shall be a sister to you; I have longed for you all 
my life; now kiss me, Candace, not coldly, but as if 
you were really my own sister; I shall love you as 
though you were.” 

The dark eyes of Candace slowly filled with tears. 
“It is good of you, my sister and comforter. I love 
you very much, Claudia.” 

“You are a thousand times more beautiful than I,” 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


m 

declared Claudia, *‘but I am not jealous of that beauty; 
I love you for it — I am like a rose-bud; you are like 
a majestic passion flower; there are hundreds of girls 
like me, there can be but few others like you. I am 
sure, Candace dear, that a face like yours must cover 
a great, beautiful soul.’’ A strange, wonderful light 
came over Candace’s face; her eyes darkened, and a 
quiver passed over her lips. 

“I repeat, Candace, I love you for your beautiful face, 
and your soul shining through your face. I, here on 
my bended knees, my sweet sister, swear fealty to you. 
I will be true to you until death, I will be a friend 
more than in name; your great sorrow has plunged 
you into darkness and despair; I will help to dispel 
this darkness, to arouse the great sleeping soul, and if 
the time should ever come when, by laying down every- 
thing dear to me in life for your sake to give you hap- 
piness, I will do it, and I have come to help make your 
sorrow lighter. 

‘‘This great sorrow of yours has brought me nearer 
to you; this great sorrow shut up in your heart has 
brought these mystical shadows into your eyes — we 
must have no more of them,” she said. 

“Now listen, dear Candace; Sir Winton, your loved 
one, is in the bright beyond; he has only left you for 
a little while, just a little while, dear. I have no doubt 
but that the veil between ourselves and the unseen 
world, is thinner than you think. I believe, dear Can- 
dace, though he has gone from you, his presence is 
ever near you, and if you will only learn to think of 
him as a bright, loving spirit, who has not passed out 
of your life, but has just gone beyond. 

“Soared to eternal greatness, whose watchful, loving 
eyes are ever upon you, who is to guide your every 

9 


124 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


step, to broaden your life and mind, and purify your 
heart. If you will only learn to look up toward Heaven 
with a faith that he is there, you will receive his divine 
inspiration and blessing. Your heart will grow 
stronger, your life full of sweetness, your sorrow will 
fall from you, and your very soul will be kindled with 
an inspiration that will lead onward and upward, above 
earthly sorrow. You will come in touch with his In- 
finite being, and he will carry you into a haven of 
bliss. Can you, dear?” 

Candace was touched by the earnest, passionate 
words. ‘‘You do not know what your words mean to 
me; they give me hope, new lease on life. Could I 
know he was only near me, could I, oh, could I know 
that what you say is true; but everything, even now, 
seems brighter; how I thank you, Claudia, for your 
sweet words. I will see with your eyes, I will hear 
with your your ears, dear, until I grow strong myself. 
I shall begin now by thinking of him as you say ; if it 
is true that he is near me, watching over me, I shall 
soon know it. I shall go to sleep happy, I shall wake 
up happy, thinking to myself, some one is near me — 
that he still has a being, that he loves me. 

“I have a mission in life, something to live for, some- 
thing to gain ; you have brightened my life for me more 
than you know. Claudia, you must never leave me; 
you are strong and I am weak ; I am indeed blessed to 
have such a noble, trusted friend and sister,” and she 
kissed the white brow of Claudia. 

The English girl, with her bright, intelligent face, 
kneeling beside dark-eyed, golden-haired Candace, with 
her pale, passionate, matchless loveliness, her black 
robes, so picturesque, yet telling so plainly what she had 
lost, how her heart was shrouded in grief, together 
made a subject fit for a Rosetti. 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


126 


Duke Gerald of Orloff’s first feelings upon hearing 
of Sir Winton’s death was one of horror, of pity; 
then his heart leaped with the startling thought, that 
Lady Candace, whom he loved, was now free, yes, 
free! No vows now bound her to another, and she 
might be won by some fortunate schemer, who was 
bold enough to dare what he meant to dare, and he 
meant to win, too. 

He sprang to his feet, and began pacing the floor 
with restless steps, his face deeply flushed, his eyes 
glowing with a sort of evil excitement and purpose. 
Surely his good angel must have been sleeping, or 
have deserted her post, or he never could have formed 
such plans as were now being formed in his wicked 
heart and mind, against the brave, true, pure woman 
whom Sir Winton had loved so well; Sir Winton, 
who had been his life-long friend, with whom he had 
spent many pleasant hours, with whom he had spent 
such pleasant years at college; and now that he had 
suddenly been plunged into eternity, Gerald was plan- 
ning and scheming against the one whom Winton 
loved best. 

There were times when a feeling, that if he could 
not in time win her by fair means he would give up 
all hopes of her, came over him, and mingled with 
this feeling was a sense of shame and regret of his 
unworthiness of her, even though he might win her. 
He might have yielded to this feeling, but a demon 
was at hand to remind him that now she was free, and 
if he did not turn every point to his own selfish advan- 
tage, in a way almost too vile for a human being to 
contemplate, he would lose the dearest thing in life. 
He must make sure of her, of her love — must leave no 
loop-hole ; he must have her — he must see Lady Marie ; 


126 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


but it was some time before he could get the oppor- 
tunity, as Lady Marie spent much of her time in 
seclusion, or with Lady Candace. 

Sir Winton’s death had pierced her to the heart, 
although she had stooped to wicked plotting, had 
blackened her soul; she loved him well. She could 
never forget the shock on entering that darkened room 
alone and unobserved, to look her last upon the face 
she had loved so much, and for the sake of winning 
his love in return, had sinned so greatly. 

The black draperies, the burning tapers, the silent 
figure covered with flowers, inexpressibly awed her, 
for she had never been face to face with death before. 
She fell upon her knees with a passionate outburst 
of tears, and she shudderingly buried her face in her 
hands, for she well knew if the dumb lips could open, 
the name he would utter would be Candace, not hers, 
and yet he was the man she loved best in the world, 
the man for whom she had almost sold her soul, only 
the hand of Heaven had intervened. 

There she knelt long by the calm, motionless figure, 
gazing intently upon it, and as she gazed, a radical 
change took place in her heart ; her hatred for his loved 
wife grew less, she felt her scheming, her love, her 
life almost at an end. The greatest mistake a woman 
can make is to place herself in the power of an arro- 
gant, determined, unprincipled man, and Lady Marie 
had made this fatal mistake when she entered into the 
plan with Duke of Orloff to mar Sir Winton’s and 
Lady Charlston’s lives — to part them. 

The die was cast. Lady Marie Westhall, nobly born, 
rich, popular and beautiful, had promised to help Duke 
of Orloff. On the following week, the events narrated 
in the last chapter, Duke Orloff was announced at 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


m 


Westhall Manor, ushered into the drawing-room, where 
sat Lady Marie. She arose pale and disturbed, and 
gave her hand to him in a mechanical way that be- 
spoke thoughts far distant. She seemed confused, 
rather than anything else ; but beyond this she betrayed 
no emotion whatever. 

He could not help feeling that his presence there 
was undesired by her. 

‘Terhaps I have come too soon,” he said gravely, 
‘‘knowing how it all must have affected you, but I 
was anxious to see for myself how you were, and be- 
sides, I have something I wish to say to you.” He 
paused, but she said nothing that might lead him to 
hope that he was mistaken in his first suggestion. 

“You are not looking well,” he said rather gently. 

“No? That is hardly to be wondered at; I have 
suffered,” she said. 

“I need hardly say how I have felt for you.” Her 
tone was so cold, so unfriendly, that he felt it impos- 
sible to avoid copying it in part. “It has been a great 
trial — a great grief to carry alone,” he said, speaking 
with some difficulty, and almost hating himself that he 
felt so hypocritical as he said it. She made an effort 
to say something, but after a vague murmur that did 
not reach him, she gave up the attempt. 

A quick flush of distress dyed her white face for a 
moment, and at last she burst out : “The past, Duke 
Orloff, I am sorry for. I never knew, I never stopped 
to think, I allowed slighted love, jealousy, hatred of 
her to take possession of me ; I never felt the sin until 
he was dead — I cannot bear to look at you,” cried 
she, with a miserable trembling of her voice. 

To her, each word she uttered was a sword that 
pierced and hurt. But this daunted not his courage. 


128 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


He took a step forward and caught her hand in his as 
if to speak, but for the time being he kept silent. 

Perhaps she read in his eyes what his thoughts were, 
what his tongue could not find word to utter. He held 
her hand; she seemed quite unstrung now and moved 
a chair out of her way in the jerky manner of one 
preparing for an effort almost beyond her. 

‘When you came you said there was something you 
had to say to me,’' she broke out hesitatingly; and 
then he told her in low tones his schemes and plans — 
his fears and forebodings. If he did not use these 
means of strategy, all hope of winning Candace was 
useless. 

“And, besides, Marie, you know the old saying, all 
is fair in love and war, and I am already making sure.” 

“And so you still insist upon my playing the part 
marked out for me? I visited, once upon a time, the 
Zoological Gardens, and saw there a little rattle snake 
fed upon a live rabbit ; the poor thing had ample room 
to run away in, but could not; it was held fascinated, 
and sat still and screamed. At last the snake struck it, 
and I thought its eyes looked like yours do now, my 
Lord. I am helpless as that poor animal, and you are 
as cruel as the snake. When I placed myself in your 
power I made the mistake of my life. 

“I risked my life on one throw; I lost. I hate her 
still, but he whom I loved is gone. What have I to 
win? Nothing, and still you hold your power over 
me, tell me you can ruin me — that I will be an outcast, 
a woman despised by all. I hardly know which is best, 
my noble Lord, to be despised by the world, or be 
under your power, your rule.” 

“Now, come Marie, this is nonsense, useless. Did I 
not tell you that I have a favor to ask? Come, get 
yourself into the proper frame of mind.” 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


129 


favor? You mean that you have some wicked- 
ness in hand that you are too great a coward to execute 
yourself — tell it to me, my Lord, I know you too well 
to be shocked.” 

“Well, Marie,” he replied, “I am thoroughly deter- 
mined upon winning Lady Charlston at whatever cost, 
and I see clearly I shall not be able to do so without 
your help. With your help, no obstacle, except the 
death of Candace, and God forbid that should happen, 
can prevail against our iron determination and un- 
bounded fertility of resource.” 

“And if I refuse ?” questioned Lady Marie. 

“If you refuse, Marie, the pangs of conscience will 
overcome me, and I shall feel obliged to place certain 
letters I hold in a certain way before the public. Of 
course, it will for my own sake, be unpleasant to me 
to have to do so, but I can easily travel for a few years 
until the talk has blown over, while for you it will 
be different. 

“Your mother loves you dearly; judge how she 
would feel if she knew all the truth ? And then, it can 
easily be set about in other ways, and in either case, 
you will be a ruined woman. Remember, Marie, while 
Sir Winton lived you entered heartily into these, our 
plans. Now, because your interest in the matter seems 
at an end, I cannot afford to lose everything dear to 
me in life; I cannot do without you, and you must 
comply with my terms. If you do not refuse, and 
I cannot believe that you will, on my wedding day I 
promise you to burn before your eyes these uncomfort- 
able records, or if you prefer, you may burn them 
yourself.” 

Lady Marie, as she heard these words, rose from 
her chair, and flung herself upon the ground before 


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him, clasping her hands in pitiful pleading. “Oh, 
Gerald, Gerald,” she cried in a broken voice, “have 
some pity on me ; do not force me further into wicked- 
ness. I see it all now so plainly ; I hate her beautiful 
face, I hate her because he loved her, but since I looked 
on his dead face I am afraid. Oh, Gerald, spare me, 
see how proud I am, yet I kneel to you and ask you to 
spare me! Remember, Gerald, she loved him; it will 
be no easy task, and we may lose all.” 

“Hush, Marie, we must not even think of losing. I 
need your help and must have it. I was never so much 
in earnest in my life before. I am madly in love, I 
tell you. What happened to you in reference to Sir 
Winton has happened to me in reference to Lady Can- 
dace, or something worse; and marry her I will, so 
rise. Marie, and let us have no more nonsense.” 

Lady Marie rose to her feet, with all the softness 
and entreaty gone from her face, and in their place a 
most indicative look. “Duke of Orloff, is your heart 
of stone, or are you altogether a devil, that by your 
threats you can drive me into becoming the instrument 
of my own shame?” 

Duke Gerald laughed a little uneasily as he said: 
“Well, now we are good friends again; we understand 
each other thoroughly, so there will no need to talk 
of these things again for the present. The campaign 
will not be, by any means, an easy one ; there are many 
obstacles in the way. You will have to work for your 
letters, my dear Marie.” She gave him a look of 
haughty contempt as she said: 

“I will do as you say ; I have no love for her, but I 
pity her; I suffer, she shall suffer more. I know you 
to be a fiend, she shall find a hell with you. She is 
purer and better than I have ever been ; soon you shall 
make her worse than I have ever dreamed of being. 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


131 


Her purity shall be dishonored, her love betrayed, her 
life reduced to such chaos, that she will cease to believe 
in her God, and in return for these things I will help 
her to get a noble husband — you !” and exhausted with 
the fierceness of her own conflicting passions, she sank 
back in her chair and buried her face in her hands. 

“Me! Only that? Remember, Lady Marie, I love 
her; her love, once I win it, will make of me a good, 
noble man ; it is all I ask, and it is worth plotting and 
scheming for. It is everything to me ; should I fail — ” 
a dark, threatening look came over his face, “should I 
fail,” he hissed, “hell could have no wrath, no fury, 
like unto my own ; I would become a demon.” 

She arose and said, “I must bid you good-bye for 
the present; I can stand no more today.” 

He went without another word, and when he entered 
his carriage and gave orders to be driven directly home, 
he fell to musing to himself. 

“The wheel of life revolves with a strange irregular- 
ity. For months and years it may turn slowly and 
steadily, under the even pressure of monotonous events, 
but on some unexpected day a tide comes rushing down 
the stream of being and spins it around at faster speed, 
and then tears onward toward the ocean called past, 
leaving its plaything to creak, and turn to creak again, 
or wrecked perhaps, and useless.” 

Thinking thus, he made his way home, and as he 
thought, his mind grew clearer, his heart more at ease. 
Indeed, it seemed to him that he had put every obstacle 
behind him; he felt as though he had already lost his 
loved one; it seemed to him that she was near, and 
that he could distinguish distinct pulsations of thought 
which came from her to him, impinging themselves 
upon his system, and bringing her presence with them. 

It is a common sensation, and occurs to many people. 


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A LADY OF FRANCE 


but usually to people of a sensitive organization, when 
in sleep, or thinking of some one with whom they are 
in a high state of sympathy ; and doubtless it indicates 
some occult communication. But as it chanced, it had 
never before visited Duke Gerald, and he abandoned 
himself to its influence with delight; it thrilled him 
through and through. 

How long he sat thus he never could tell, but pres- 
ently the communication, whatever it was, stopped as 
suddenly as though the connecting link had been sev- 
ered. The currents, divided by his will, would no 
longer do his bidding, they could no longer find their 
object; frightened by some adverse influence, they had 
recoiled in confusion on his brain. Several times he 
tried to renew this subtle intercourse, that was so pal- 
pable, and real, and yet so different from anything else 
in the world, but failed. 

Awakened from this reverie, the sense of the sweet, 
subtle feeling stayed with him, and it only tended to 
quicken his ambition to win, to conquer, to have her. 

His passionate, ill-disciplined nature had never 
known any control; he was not likely to exercise it 
now, when, for the first time, he loved with his whole 
heart. He felt, sometimes, that he could bear it no 
longer, the long days that brought him no nearer to 
her. The sun set, and the sun rose, without news or 
sight of her. 

The longing for one sight of her was eating his heart 
away. It was a living death ; he could not endure it. 
Marie must manage to let him see her, to talk to her. 
To think a thing to Duke Orloff was to do it, so he 
immediately set to work planning a possible meeting 
with Lady Candace Charlston. 

Marie must be the instrument to serve his desire and 
execute his plan. 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


133 


CHAPTER XVII 

One year and four months have passed since the 
death of Sir Winton Charlston. Lady Candace still 
resided at Charlston Place. She lived in closest retire- 
ment ; Claudia and Lady Marie were daily visitors, 
Claudia staying many months at a time, claiming she 
could not bear to be separated from her sister. Lady 
Candace. 

Duke Orloff was also a frequent visitor at the man- 
sion, and he seemed to be paying much attention to 
Lady Claudia. Candace watching them thought, “A 
very pretty love affair.” And as Claudia told to Can- 
dace all of her secrets, she knew how dearly she, her 
much loved friend, was learning to love Duke Gerald. 

He was now at the mansion, and Candace, desiring 
to leave them alone laughingly told them she was go- 
ing for a quiet stroll, and stepping out on the broad 
stone terrace she wandered near to the grand entrance. 

She stood there with a strange smile upon her face, 
which lighted up the eyes and lips, deepening her beau- 
ty. She seemed to be in close communication with 
some one, her eyes had in them an indescribable some- 
thing, her soul shining through them ; they smiled, yet 
they looked sad; she gazed heavenward, and mur- 
mured : 

“What would my life have been without the knowl- 
edge of his daily presence? Oh, if I could only see 
you, my husband, as I can feel your presence, but I 
feel, and know you are often near me; I am happy it 
is so. I am trying to be content; I am daily gaining 


134 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


strength and wisdom. Oh, stay ever near, dear Win- 
ton? It is the very essence of life to me.” 

Then the coppery haze seemed to gather itself to- 
gether, great purple masses of clouds piled themselves 
in the sky, lurid light overspread the heavens, the dense, 
oppressive silence was broken by a distant thunder. 

Great rain drops fell — fierce, heavy drops; the trees 
seemed to stretch out their leaves to drink in the mois- 
ture. The fast dying, fading flowers welcomed the 
grateful downpour, and still Lady Charlston stood out 
on the terrace, so deeply engrossed in her thoughts 
that she never heeded the rain. 

Claudia hastened out to her with a shawl. “Dear 
Candace,” she cried, “it is raining, and such a cold rain, 
and you are so absorbed in thought that you do not 
notice it.” She laughed a strange, musical laugh, and 
raised her beautiful face with its expression of ab- 
straction. 

“I did not notice it, Claudia,” she said, “but there is 
no need for anxiety about me, dear.” 

They reentered the house together, Claudia’s arm 
lovingly entwined in that of Lady Candace. As they 
stepped into the room thus, Duke Gerald, looking at 
Candace, so fair with a touch of the light of Heaven in 
her face, realized the purity and spirituality of her na- 
ture. He well knew that she would never forgive such 
a sin as he had committed against her, should she know, 
but he comforted himself by saying that she would 
some day be his, and she should never know. 

He felt that he would rather slay her with his own 
hands, than that she should ever know the truth. He 
had thought of her so much, she had occupied his 
thoughts so constantly, that he could not now realize 
what his life would be without her. 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


136 


He acknowledged she was the beginning, the center, 
and the end of it, and while he was playing this double 
part of paying every attention to Lady Claudia, win- 
ning the true, noble love of her heart, in reality it was 
one of his and Lady Marie’s schemes in which he might 
constantly be with and see Candace. He never stopped 
to think and cared naught if it marred her sweet life, 
just so his own selfish heart was satisfied. 

He and Marie had planned in the beginning that 
such things as human hearts should not stand in the 
way, and Claudia was now the one to be sacrificed, 
while she, with her goodness and beauty, was learning 
each and every day to love him more and more. 

Gerald, on this evening, remained to dinner, and 
later in the evening came Lord Belmont and Lady 
Marie Westhall. This small, select party of choicest 
friends spent a pleasant evening with music, song and 
tete-a-tete. 

Every one noticed Gerald’s pretty preference for 
Candace, but instead of causing comment it pleased, 
for they thought he was endeavoring to amuse her, to 
help, as they each were doing, to dispell the gloom 
from around her; but at times Lord Belmont — he 
could not account for it — suspected and thought he saw 
something not good in Gerald’s face. 

A feeling of resentment came over him ; he somehow 
longed to go to Candace, and step in between them to 
shield her from what seemed to him Gerald’s evil 
looks ; then again he thought : 

“I am foolish ; I love her with the great love of my 
heart; but it would be useless to treasure it, for she 
loves only Sir Winton and his memory, and I will re- 
spect that love, as I respected and admired him.” 

Everything had been going terribly wrong in a 


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A LADY OF FRANCE 


financial way for Lady Charlston since Sir Winton's 
death. Those who loved her, dreaded to see more 
trouble added to her already great grief, and tried to 
keep this fact from her as long as it was possible. 

To every one’s surprise and consternation, no will 
was found. Straunton & Knox, Sir Winton’s legal 
advisers, claimed that there was no will to their knowl- 
edge. Thus Lady Charlston was left in terrible straits. 
The only other heir was Sir Winton’s son by his first 
marriage ; and he came in for the entailed property and 
the title. Charlston Place, the dowager house, was left 
to Lady Charlston, with no means forth-coming to keep 
up the residence. 

Every one was surprised and astonished. Eor indeed 
it was a matter to cause consternation. To reconcile 
Sir Winton’s great love for Lady Candace with his 
seeming neglect to provide for her in case of his death, 
was impossible. 

When Lawyer Straunton waited upon Candace and 
made known to her the facts that she had been left 
almost if not quite penniless, she clasped her hands 
tightly together and turned pale as death ; but otherwise 
she showed no signs of the fatal news affecting her. 

‘T am more grieved Lady Charlston, than I can ex- 
press,” continued Lawyer Straunton, “it is simply a 
neglect of duty while in good health. Charlston Place 
is yours until death, but such a small allowance goes 
with it. Lady Charlston, that you can scarcely keep up 
the place, and unless a will is found within six months’ 
time, the new heir will take possession.” He extended 
his hand to Candace. 

“Accept my heart-felt sympathy. Lady Charlston.” 
She gave him her hand and smiled the saddest, sweetest 
smile he ever saw on a woman’s face. 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


137 


does not matter, I assure you, Mr. Straunton. 
Sir Charlston never wronged me in his life, and I feel 
assured that he did not intend to do so now. I will be 
content; I will make the best of it,” and many times 
after, Candace remembered how extremely pale Lawyer 
Straunton turned as she talked to him, and how his 
eyes shifted from her own clear gaze. 

When Lady Charlston, in the seclusion of her own 
room, fell upon her knees, hot, blinding tears fell like 
rain down the pale, lovely face, and she cried, “Oh, 
Winton, Winton, how could you? I who loved you so 
much. It is not for loss of the gold — it is not for the 
luxuries it can give to me ; it is, dear one, your seeming 
cold neglect of one who loves you so much. But here 
on my knees, I yield, I submit; you know best dear; 
your dear memory is the very light of my life — heart 
of my heart — soul of my soul.” 

Claudia entering, looked in alarm upon the kneeling 
figure, with great drops of agony upon the white brow. 
She saw worlds of pain in the dark eyes which alarmed 
her. 

“Do not weep, Candace, darling; do not grieve — it 
is cruel — no more cruel fate has ever fallen to woman’s 
lot.” 

“Hush !” says Candace, “you pain me ; I cannot bear, 
one breath of blame of him. I have accepted my fate, 
and when the first smart of pain, of seeming neglect, 
is over, I shall try to be happy.” 

“Heaven will bless you, darling sister,” says Clau- 
dia, while tears filled her eyes, and she kissed Candace’s 
face with great reverence. 

All that night Candace sat by the window and 
watched the stars, and strange thoughts came to her, 
thoughts that she could hardly control. 


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A LADY OF FRANCE 


Why was she so cruelly punished? What had she 
done ? She had read of sinful men end wicked women, 
whose crimes, even in this world, had been most bit- 
terly punished; she read of curses following sins, but 
what had she done ? 

She could not understand it, but she thought, “There 
is certainly some compensation somewhere, or how, for 
human suffering, some equality in the human lot some- 
where. She would be resigned, and to save her, she 
would not, could not, find fault with Sir Winton. 

No, her love for him was too pure, too noble; then 
after a time she clasped her hands. “I will submit,” 
she said, “I will leave my fate to providence.” 

When morning dawned, she made a fresh toilet, 
bathed her wan, tear-stained face in cool, refreshing, 
perfumed water, and brushed her glorious long hair 
until it gleamed and shone like spun gold. She did 
not wish her household to know that she had sat up 
and watched the night through; and when she de- 
scended to the great dining-room, she found that her 
guests, Claudia and Lady Marie, had already put in 
their appearance, and she readily surmised from their 
attitude, that they had been discussing the event of the 
previous evening. 

Claudia met her with a kiss and a pleasant good 
morning ; Lady Marie smiled sweetly, and extended her 
white hand with a pleasant good morning also, but 
watched her closely — saw she was deadly pale, and that 
she smiled with an effort. 

Candace, nevertheless, took her place at the head of 
the table, and presided with calm composure over the 
silver coffee urn, and was hospitably intent upon serv- 
ing the wants of her guests. 

“I hardly expected you down to breakfast, dear,” 
said Claudia earnestly, “did you rest well ?” 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


139 


‘‘Yes, rather,” replied Candace. 

“Gerald is coming this morning,” said Claudia, “and 
we are going for a long drive.” 

“You will have to excuse me, Claudia,” replied Can- 
dace,” for I do not feel quite equal for a drive, and be- 
sides I have some letters that must be answered.” 

“Oh, no, dear,” remonstrated Lady Marie, “you cer- 
tainly must go; the cool fresh morning air will do a 
world of good.” 

“Yes, Candace, you must go,” urged Claudia. “I 
should not enjoy the drive at all if you remained at 
home.” 

Candace, looking at the face she has learned to love 
so well, said, “Ah, now Claudia, should you not? 
Signs of the times say that Lady Claudia Vincent could 
enjoy herself anywhere that Duke of Orloff might be — 
think you, Marie?” 

“So I think,” answered Lady Marie. 

Claudia laughed a sweet, silvery laugh. “Don’t be 
alarmed ladies, I mean nothing serious in that direc- 
tion, but he has beautiful eyes, and I love to see him 
smile.” 

“Be careful, Claudia,” ventured Marie, gravely, 
“never play with fire.” 

Claudia laughed again, as she looked up at Marie 
and said, “I shall begin to think that you have done so, 
Marie, you look so grave ; have you ?” 

“No,” replied Marie, rather seriously and earnestly. 

Breakfast over, they passed out through the French 
window on to the lawn, and these three beautiful 
women together strolled across the smooth, velvety 
lawn, to a beautiful little nook in the woods, which 
might have been made for the fairies. A cluster of fine 
beech trees grew close together, grand old trees, whose 

10 


140 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


branches swept the ground, whose leaves rippled in the 
wind, in whose boughs birds had built their nests. 

The space between the trees was carpeted by thick, 
soft grass, in which king-cups and wild celandines grew. 
All kinds of wild flowers clustered around the roots of 
the trees, scarlet creepers twisted themselves through 
the grass — a nook from fairy-land; and here they 
stopped to listen to hear what the happy birds were 
singing to each other. 

Nothing could have been more picturesque and beau- 
tiful ; the whole place seemed laughing in the sunshine, 
while the fragrance of the flowers greeted them. Can- 
dace had wandered on a few steps from Marie and 
Claudia ; here she stood alone, earnestly thinking, while 
a locket of gold, which she always wore, lay open in 
her hand. It was handsome, most elaborately and ex- 
quisitely chased, with a magnificent diamond in the 
center. 

She gazed earnestly, long and lovingly, upon the pic- 
tured face, the portrait of her husband. Sir Winton. 
She saw the kind, gray eyes smiling at her, so true, the 
cluster of hair upon the noble brow, the proud curves 
of the beautiful mouth; how she cherished it! And 
raising it to her sweet lips, kissed the pictured face. 
Duke Gerald, coming across the lawn, had witnessed 
this, and he knew it was Sir Winton’s face in the locket. 
A sharp, bitter pain went through his heart ; for a mo- 
ment he stood still — his face lost all of its color. 

‘‘Can it be possible that Marie is deceiving me? 
She told me only yesterday that she felt sure I was 
gaining ground rapidly, and that when she found her- 
self penniless, she was almost sure to hate Sir Winton, 
and would turn to the one who offered her comfort and 
position again. Yes, she has been queen too long, 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


141 


has become too thoroughly accustomed to the homage 
and admiration of the great world, to be dethroned. 

“I can imagine it is as bitter as death to her after 
having reigned so long ; yes, I am sure that I am near 
to claiming you, my beautiful love,” and as he watched 
the sweet, sad face, he thought it the most beautiful 
face in the world. 

‘Would to Heaven I could this moment, take her in 
my arms, and tell her how I love her — without you, my 
Candace, my queen, the world is empty. 

“It is strange what capricious wilful, miserable mor- 
tals we are. I have everything to make me happy but 
this one thing I have fixed my heart on this beautiful 
woman’s love, and as yet I have not attained it, but it 
will be mine, never fear for that,” and he walked close- 
ly to where Candace was standing, and said, “Lady 
Charlston, good morning.” Seeing her startled glance, 
he made haste to apologize. 

“Pardon me, dear Lady Charlston, did I frighten or 
annoy you ?” Candace turned and smiled as she spoke 
a pleasant good morning. 

“You did neither, your grace, but I was so deep in 
thought, that I had forgotten for a moment that you or 
I, or in fact that any one existed.” He bent his hand- 
some head before her, and replied: 

“Pray tell me, who can be so fortunate as to capti- 
vate your thoughts, and make you forget your very 
self like that. Lady Charlston?” A smile played over 
her face as she answered him. 

“It would take volumes to transcribe all that passed 
in that short time of revery, through my awakened soul. 
It would be of little interest to you, your grace.” 

“Anything concerning you would interest me,” he 
replied. But Candace, immediately taking on a little 


143 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


more cheery mood, said, ^‘But come, Duke Gerald, let 
us join Claudia and Marie.” At which remark a slight 
frown came over his brow, but he readily complied with 
her wish, and joining the others, immediately repaired 
to the castle to don light wraps, and prepare for their 
drive. 

Duke of Orloff’s elegant open carriage stood before 
the grand entrance; handsome brown steeds, in silver 
mounted harness, stood impatiently prancing, and toss- 
ing their high geared heads. A stalwart coachman, in 
the Orloff liveries, sat upon the box with all the dignity 
that the coachman of a young, rich noble could possi- 
bly have ; footmen in the same rich liveries stood await- 
ing the biddings of their lord and master. 

The Orloff motto and crest, ‘‘Vincit Veritas,” a 
crest and an olive branch, were upon the carriage in 
bright, glittering letters of gold. Presently down the 
broad stone steps came Claudia, Lady Marie, and Duke 
Gerald, with Candace leaning lightly upon his arm. 

Claudia and Marie looked both bright and beautiful 
in their carriage dresses. Candace in her sombre 
mourning attire, looked like a picture. Her face no one 
could read, and yet it was a face that would attract the 
attention of even a passerby. In it one could see inspi- 
ration from the divine written upon the white brow. 
The eyes told of a soul, a mind of which few could have 
conception as to its depth, breadth, and greatness ; resig- 
nation and hope mingled with each other in the play 
of the features. 

They entered the carriage. Duke Gerald took his 
place beside Candace, attentively seeing to their com- 
fort, gave orders to be driven through the Row at Hyde 
Park. There, on the promenade, you would see half 
the Peerage, beautiful women, handsome men — duke. 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


143 


duchess, lords and ladies, either in handsome, gold 
burnished equipages, or riding their thoroughbred 
steeds, from eleven in the morning to the luncheon 
hour. 

Gerald looked around at the aristocrats driving past, 
but not one had for its occupants such beautiful women 
as his own carriage. As he watched the admiring 
glances cast at Candace, his heart swelled with pride, 
and he thought how, one of these days, she would be 
his very own, and to himself he repeated : 

^^Duchess of Orloff,” and cast an admiring glance at 
the beautiful face at his side. “You look like an em- 
press, my beautiful love.” While thinking these things, 
he kept up a lively conversation with the three, bright, 
witty women. Marie, watching him closely, nothing 
of his manner or looks towards Candace escaped her 
notice, and she ruminated : 

“Yes, I am certain, he will now have smooth sail- 
ing; she will want his money and position, if she does 
not love him. I am sure, my dear Lady Charlston, 
I do not envy you being Duchess of Orloff. He is 
certainly a fiend. 

“Well, the sooner the better for me; I am tired of my 
fetters, and on his wedding day I will be free again. 
Yes, free from that man’s chains,” and as she looked 
into his dark, handsome face, she thought: “How I 
hate him ; how evil he is.” 

Claudia with her bright vivacity, her quick, sympa- 
thetic, intelligent manner, kept every one near and 
around her in excellent good spirits. She looked with 
love shining out of her eyes into the smiling face of 
Duke Gerald, and pondered : 

“How handsome, how noble and good he is, and his 
care and thoughtfulness of my beautiful sister Can- 


144 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


dace, is to be adored and praised/' As she felt in her 
heart that she loved him all the more for his interest in, 
and his care of Candace, whom she loved as an own sis- 
ter. 

‘‘Look !" exclaimed Candace. “Our handsome, 
kingly Lord Belmont! And see how almost sullen 
he appears riding alone, with his head drooped, and 
his lips set so tightly. Call to him, Gerald, and let’s 
see what is the cause of our Lord’s singular grave look 
on his handsome face?” But suddenly he stopped his 
horse under some trees and sat buried in earnest 
thought. As they came up, still unobserved by him, 
they noticed a touch of languid hauteur in his face. 

“Lionel,” said Gerald, as they drove up and stopped. 
He started, looked in Candace’s face for a moment as 
if trying to read her very soul but his glance and greet- 
ing were without the friendly smile which usually ac- 
companied them. 

“Lovely day, isn’t it?” remarked Marie. “You look 
grave this morning, Lionel, and rather disappointed, 
and out with the world.” He laughed a little uneasily, 
and said: 

“Oh, the world and I are on good terms, Marie.” 

“What a lot of people are out today, aren’t there?” 
said Candace, bowing and smiling to one and another 
who passed by and bowed to her. 

“How did the Rothberry ball go off last night?” 
asked Claudia, “we did not attend.” 

“So I noticed,” he answered. “The ball was a suc- 
cess, but terribly crowded. The Princess was there. 
She is a very lovely woman. I watched for you,” he 
said, as he looked at Claudia and Marie. 

“We could not come,” answered Claudia. 

He looked quite contented with the explanation or 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


145 


rather the want of one; quite satisfied, and serenely 
placid and indifferent. 

^*You missed a very pleasant ball,” was all he said, 
must bid you good morning,” lifting his hat to the 
ladies, ‘‘as we are blocking the way.” 

As he rode on, Gerald looked after him thoughtfully, 
and said to Candace : “Something is wrong with Lionel ; 
he, try as he would, could not be his usual self.” 

“Oh,” replied Candace, “he is making rapid strides 
in the political field ; that gives him plenty of food for 
thought, and abstraction from the world and friends.” 

“He is a very earnest, conservative fellow,” returned 
Gerald, and after having prolonged their delightful 
drive to the satisfaction and approval of all, they re- 
turned home, Gerald, Claudia and Marie, remaining 
to luncheon with Candace. 


146 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


CHAPTER XVIII 

Lord Lionel Belmont, as he rode away, could not 
dispel the unpleasant feelings caused by the remarks 
he had heard that very morning in regard to Lady 
Charlston and Duke of Orloff. It had been intimated 
in his presence by people whose opinions he valued very 
much, that while Orloff appeared to be paying atten- 
tion to Lady Claudia Vincent, in reality, it was Lady 
Charlston with whom he was in love, upon whom he 
had been spending both time and thought. 

When Lionel heard this he was shocked. That Ger- 
ald could be so unkind to one whom he had once called 
friend, as to bring down such unfriendly remarks, as 
he himself had heard that very day, was incredible. 

‘Tt may be as the old adage goes — ‘Fair but false’ — 
but if such a face as Candace, Lady Charlston’s, is 
false ; if such a love as she seemingly held for Winton 
was not true, pure and loyal, then I will say that I can- 
not believe what my eyes see, or my ears hear. 

“If a love so true, so loyal, can so soon be forgotten 
for another, and that one, a man like Gerald, I must say 
that I want nothing of love or women in my own life.” 
Such thoughts as these wrought the gloom on Lord 
Belmont’s brow as they came upon him riding in Hyde 
Park. That was the cause of his deep gazing into Can- 
dace’s face; he was searching there for truth and loy- 
alty. 

“Still” he meditated, “I read them all there; but if 
love, triumph and confidence were ever written upon a 
face, it was on Gerald’s. I am to dine with them to- 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


147 


morrow evening, I will take notice. But can it be pos- 
sible, after having the power to attract and marry one 
man like Sir Winton Charlston, she should not see the 
great deficiencies of a man like Duke of Orloff ?’' Then 
the suspicion came to him. 

^Tt may be the position. Duchess of Orloff, she likes, 
while I cannot think so. She, after all, is only a woman 
with a beautiful face and it certainly is woman’s forte 
to look for position, to shine, to conquer. She certain- 
ly did queen it over all as Sir Winton’s wife, a distinc- 
tion and position she cannot claim as Lady Charlston, 
his widow. 

“She is just as beautiful, just as noble, just as good; 
it is not the fault of the woman or widow. It is society, 
yes, society that causes many and many a good woman 
with aspirations to climb or even to retain her old glory, 
to take this step, the giving of her hand where her heart 
does not go. 

“As they have not love to give, certainly they cannot 
win love ; and so far the false glamor of position they 
sacrifice themselves and live to see and curse the day 
they were born. They have to win their way to pardon 
and to heaven through bitterest tears of remorse and 
repentance. I cannot imagine Gerald ever being a 
good, loyal husband. I cannot think of him as being 
true, because he is steeped in selfishness, arrogance and 
pride ; besides he loves every beautiful woman he sees. 
Such a husband for Lady Charlston! But,” he con- 
sidered, “why does it annoy me? I certainly ought 
to be content, if they are. While Lady Charlston is 
and always has been my ideal of all that a perfect 
woman could be, I cannot choose her friends and com- 
panions. If I could, Gerald, Duke of Orloff, would 
not be one of them.” 


148 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


Candace, on the following morning was in the li- 
brary, busily engaged in writing letters. It was a 
bright morning, and the sun shone on her golden head. 
She wore a morning costume of some soft, clinging 
black material that made her look doubly youthful; 
the lace encircling the white throat made the dainty 
coloring of the face charming to look upon. 

After having finished her letters, she rang for a foot- 
man to post them, and then laying her head back among 
the luxurious cushions, sank into a reverie. Candace 
had indeed placed her fate in the hands of Providence, 
but she found comfort in resignation. 

She tried to consider, quite calmly, what her future 
would be, what she would do. 

Some would be proudly indifferent, others would 
have retaliated fiercely, others have grown revengeful. 
She was calm, even to heroism ; a more cruel position 
one could not imagine, but she mused : 

“I do not blame you, dear, I cannot find it in my heart’ 
to do so. Ah me ! what a difference to live in this world 
with such a man as the stainless Knight, my husband, 
to love and guide me, and living alone, unloved; but 
I must be contented.” And it seemed like an answer to 
an unspoken prayer when she opened a book and saw 
these words of Carlyle: 

“Say unto all kinds of happiness, I can do without 
thee.” With self renunciation, life begins; that was 
to be her new life, self renunciation, without happiness, 
love or money — life, all duty, with no reward but the 
knowledge of itself. 

“I, who let love rule my life, who absorbed it as 
the grass and flowers absorbed the morning dew. Life, 
without his love, will indeed be all duty,” but she 
thought, “I can do it. Mine is an uncommon fate, I 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


149 


can master it — it might break a weak heart, it shall 
strengthen mine, with your help, dear Winton. 

“Fate is what people make it — I will make mine. 
There are many who have to find the happiness of their 
lives in the fulfillment of duty, I must do the same. I 
have lost husband, home, everything.” Yet brave as 
was her resolve, to think of it was bitter. 

Young, with life all before her, how she longed for 
its blessings — she longed for the love that was lost, of 
Winton, her husband, the love that was the strongest, 
the truest, the dearest the world knew. But, she told 
herself, as the tears rolled down the pale, troubled face : 

“I must be brave and noble and good.” But never- 
theless she longed for love, and she murmured : 

“One cannot have everything in this world, but if I 
had been offered my choice, before all other gifts I 
should have chosen Winton and his love, but I only 
lose him for a time, that I may gain him forever. 

“In this world he is separated from me ; in the world 
to come my rights will assert themselves, and we shall 
be together, never to part again — surely the heart that 
can remember it can strive to reach it. I have ascended 
from a deep valley to the cliff from whence the echoes 
came, and yet there are still other cliffs to climb ; give 
me strength, dear God. Ah !” she sighed, “it would be 
easy to descend, but we poor creatures so weak, need 
wings to climb.” And she closed her eyes and let her 
head fall wearily back among the cushions. Presently 
she opened her eyes again. “There can be nothing 
wrong in what the ruling Wisdom allows us to acquire 
without the help of evil. No earthly passion of es- 
trangement must come to trouble the fixed serenity of 
my aspirations. I shall then choose this vocation, and 
I will strive to be more ‘angel than woman.’ Some 


150 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


would call this foolish imagination; well, let them call 
it imagination if they will. 

“What is imagination? It is the connecting link 
between us and our former and future state — the scent 
of heaven, yet clinging to our souls, and recalling mem- 
ories of our home. Imagination! What would our 
higher life be without it ? It is what the mind is to the 
body; it is the soul’s thought. Yes,” she thought, “I 
will do my life’s work well — I will use every inspiration 
for good — I will endeavor to accomplish much, then at 
last, a great rest; at last I shall die, then the real life 
will begin. Of this I feel sure ; if it were not so it would 
be better to be a drop of dew, sparkling for a moment 
or an hour, and then vanish into ether, rather than a 
human soul, conscious, languishing, suffering year by 
year, only to evaporate at last into some undefined 
ocean of being, then be full of sorrow. 

“If it be the direct consequences of life (but I am 
sure death is not the end of our individual and con- 
scious existence for if nothing remained but the ashes 
of a burned taper or a formless essence, that soars away 
and mingles with the elements) — if our glowing hopes, 
our lofty aspirations, our consciousness of capacities 
for knowledge and happiness, which have just begun 
to expand, were all cut off by death and buried in the 
grave, then indeed we should be the greatest enigma 
in the universe. 

“If that be so, compared with the possibilities of our 
nature, we are as a morning cloud, fading into space as 
a tale that is told, only to be forgotten; but if, as I 
know they must be, our budding hopes and conscious- 
ness of dawning desires which no earthly good can fill, 
are but the meeting germs of faculties that will blossom 
hereafter and bear immortal fruit ; if we rise from the 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


161 


grave, as from a sleep, in human form, made perfect, 
with all our memory and our certainty of individual 
being, to end upon an endless career into which hope is 
changed into fruition and aspirations into attainments 
then death is the grandest step of life. 

“It solves all its enigmas, it is the fulfillment of which 
this existence is the prophecy, and to the wise and pure 
it throws wide the shining portals of an endless day.” 

Suddenly she stretched forth her arms and cried in 
a pitiful, pleading voice, 

“Oh, Winton, how I long^ even now, for the purer 
air and flashing sympathies of the vast hereafter, when 
the strong sense of knowledge shall scarcely find a limit 
before it overleaps it — when visible power shall radiate 
from our being. 

“Ah, me, must all lives have sorrow and care ? Is no 
one free? I think not; the young and the beautiful, 
the great and the wealthy, the highest in rank, all seem 
to have sorrow come upon them and I am beginning 
to think the greatest are those we see the least of; 
why is it? I should say that souls require suffering 
to purify them as does gold the fire. 

“I am sure it is so; there are noble qualities latent 
in most people, and it takes suffering to draw them 
out. Well, I will do the best I can ; I will try to study, 
but I fear I will spend a great deal of my time think- 
ing.” She was aroused from this deep reverie by the 
ringing of the bell for luncheon. 

When seven o’clock of that same day came. Lady 
Candace dressed for dinner, descended to the draw- 
ing-room to await the coming of her expected guests 
— Lady Claudia Vincent, Lady Marie Westhall, His 
Grace, Duke of Laleham. Lord Lionel Belmont and 
Duke Gerald of Orloff. 


152 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


The sun was still shining upon the blooming flow- 
ers, and rippling fountains tempted her and she went 
out through the open French window and walked 
down the path where the roses seemed to welcome her 
with a smile. On this evening she wore a dress that 
enhanced her singular beauty. It was of rich, flimsy 
lustreless silk, handsomely trimmed with broad bands 
of crepe, and it was artistically made. The hair of her 
proudly set head was held by a single ornament of 
dead gold — she looked like a goddess as she stood 
among the flowers. 

Presently Claudia and Gerald joined her, and Clau- 
dia, embracing Candace, said: “We came early, dear, 
so we could have a pleasant little chat with you all 
alone; did we not, Gerald?’' 

“Yes,” he answered, “and you looked like a beau- 
tiful picture standing here among the flowers. Lady 
Charlston.” 

“Indeed you did, Candace,” said Claudia. 

Candace smiled as she replied: “You are always, 
both of you, so good, making me happy and my life 
full of sweetness by your kind deeds and sweet words 
— I am indeed blessed to have two such good, dear 
friends. Now let us return to the house; I fear it 
is almost time for the rest of my guests.” And they 
wandered back the path of roses to the drawing-room, 
where the other guests were soon announced. 

Duke Gerald’s manner was not natural ; he seemed 
in some unaccountable way to be greatly agitated. He 
could scarcely take his eyes from Candace’s face dur- 
ing the whole dinner hour. 

Lord Belmont noticed his strangely distrait and 
confused manner, and asked: “What is the matter, 
Gerald; anything wrong?” 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


163 


‘‘It is nothing,” replied Gerald, but he made a vio- 
lent effort to recover himself, for his strange manner, 
he felt sure, was beginning to attract attention. With 
a desperate effort he rallied and recovered his usual 
spirits, but during all the dinner hour, while he talked 
to Claudia, the well known music of Candace’s voice 
thrilled him through and through and bewildered him. 

Why was he so impatient ? Why was it he so often 
glanced at Lady Marie, and she at him? And why 
did Marie seem unusually kind and gentle and loving 
to Candace? Why did she watch her face so closely, 
and why did she remain so near by her side? 

It was all because she had a purpose in view, a pur- 
pose she meant to carry out. After dinner the whole 
party were assembled in the drawing-room. Marie 
asked Claudia and Lord Belmont to sing. Claudia 
was only too pleased ; she went to the piano, and very 
soon the two beautiful voices seemed to fill the room, 
Claudia’s clear and sweet. Lord Belmont’s rich and 
musical. 

They were singing about love, love that was im- 
mortal. Marie went quietly up to Duke of Laleham, 
and they two, walking away to a distant window, stood 
gazing at the coming shadows of the evening. Now 
Duke Gerald was left with Candace. 

She was talking to him in a low voice, so as not to 
reach the singers. Gerald said: 

“Lady Charlston, you have so often promised to 
show me your beautiful picture, ‘Chill October.’ Marie 
was speaking of it today ; will you show it to me now ?” 

“Yes,” replied Candace; “I will be pleased to do so.” 
They passed out of the room together, ascended the 
marble steps to the picture gallery, and they paused 
before the beautiful painting, which was indeed a 
treasure, a very gem of art. 


154 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


can imagine/' remarked Candace, “I feel the wind 
that seems to be blowing through the trees; it is all 
so real/' 

“Yes, it is very real, and very beautiful, Lady Charls- 
ton." They stood for some time looking at the pic- 
ture, and then moved on down to the farther end of 
the gallery, until they came to a small alcove, luxuri- 
ously furnished with comfortable lounging chairs, and 
soft, downy cushions. 

Suddenly the Duke walked closely to Candace's side, 
stood so near to her as to almost touch the lace on her 
gown — he seemed to look intently at the magnificent 
painting, when all at once he turned. Candace look- 
ing up saw something in his demeanor which for the 
moment frightened her. 

His face flushed; a great trembling came over the 
great, tall, stalwart form. He felt that he could not 
live unless that beautiful face smiled for him, unless 
the lips whispered the rare words he craved to hear. 

He took the white hand upon which poor Winton's 
wedding ring shone; Candace tried to withdraw her 
hand from his clasp, but he held it firmly. The dark, 
handsome face was bending over her; she felt fright- 
ened, she knew not what to do, his face was so near 
her own. In a deep, passionate voice, full of emotion, 
he said: 

“I do not want to see any picture — I want to look 
at you — at your face — in your eyes. I want to say 
words that are burning my soul, my heart, my brain — 
that rise like burning lava to my lips. You must 
listen to them!" 

They stood before the beautiful painting, Candace 
with a look of fear and disdain upon her pale face, he 
with a terrible, tragical earnestness. 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


166 


She felt something like a shudder of repulsion, and 
she cried in a voice of alarm : 

‘‘Stop, your Grace, you forget to whom you are 
speaking !” 

“My love, my darling,” he burst out, “you do, you 
must promise to love me, I cannot live without you — 
love for you has become a consuming passion.” 

“Hush, oh, hush !” she exclaimed, great tears filling 
her eyes. “Have you no pity, no respect? Look at 
these, my sober robes — how could you ? I almost hate 
you ! Oh, Winton, Winton, I could not help it, dear !” 
Then wrenching her hand from his, she motioned to 
the landing of the stairs. 

“Go! Duke Orloff!” 

“I have startled you,” he said. “You must listen, 
Candace, darling, listen ; I love you, and must have you. 
Do you hear? Must have you? I love only you.” 

She raised her bowed head with the gesture of an 
empress. 

“You are mad, your Grace; love you, never. The 
whole unbroken love of my heart belongs to my dear 
husband ; I forbid you to ever speak to me again — you 
forget to whom you are speaking; I am Lady Charls- 
ton.” 

He fell to his knees before her, clasped both her 
hands in his, and entreated: 

“Candace, darling, do you think you frighten me? 
I love you, you cannot repulse me — I will never give 
you up ; I have loved you since my eyes first fell upon 
you, and I will yet claim you as my wife, so help me 
Heaven; such a mad, fierce love as mine must and 
shall win!” 

“Release my hand, allow me to pass ; I will not listen 
to these mad, unkind words !” Something in her face 


11 


156 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


made him fear he had gone too far. He arose to his 
feet, loosened his hold upon her hand, and pleaded : 

‘‘Candace, darling, give me one word of kindness, 
of encouragement, and I will allow you to pass.’' 

“No ! Never ! Duke of Orloff, I forbid you to ever 
speak to me again!” 

Tears, as from the depth of a divine despair burned 
on her cheeks. 

“Have you no pity, no heart ?” Quickly she walked 
from his side, anger and loathing written upon her 
brow. She descended the stairs with the swiftness of 
something gliding through the air. 

“I can never face them until I have quieted my out- 
raged feelings, my insulted pride!” And going down 
the long, broad corridor, she entered the morning room, 
which was immediately off from the library. She felt 
that here she would be free from intrusion. She en- 
tered, closed the door, and crossed over to a window 
overlooking the park, and here the poor, persecuted, 
loving heart gave way to its grief. 

“Oh, why is it the very wrath of Heaven seems to 
be upon me? No, not that. I have done nothing — 
it cannot be God’s wrath.” She sinks into a nearby 
chair, and there she sought relief in a torrent of grief. 
She will never remember how piteously she wept, but 
presently a rap at the door aroused her; she quickly 
endeavored to remove all traces of tears from her face, 
and rose to her feet. 

“Come in.” The door opened, and Lionel, Lord 
Belmont, entered. He cast her a look of deep con- 
cern. 

“Pardon me. Lady Charlston, I saw you some time 
ago enter here and alone; your entrance bespoke hurried 
excitement — I watched for your appearance, and as 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


157 


you remained away so long I feared something was 
vitally wrong, and instead of arousing the suspicions 
or anxieties of the others, I have myself come to in- 
quire. Are you ill. Lady Charlston?” 

‘‘No,” replied poor Candace. “I am not ill, but, 
Lord Belmont, I am just a little frightened and an- 
noyed. I have received a great shock, one from which 
it will take some time to recover.” He crossed the 
room and came to her side, and she noticed as he 
walked toward her how proud and stately he was. 

“I am sure he is as good as he is noble looking — a 
woman need never fear him; he is a true patrician.” 
He came closely to her side, and looking down into her 
face, said: 

“Frightened! Shocked! Is it anything in which I 
might help you? I am your friend. Lady Charlston.” 

“I thank you. Lord Belmont, for your kindness and 
your goodness; but it is something I can tell no one. 
Never mention it to me again.” 

He answered, “That I shall not.” They passed over, 
and stood near the window directly beside the library 
door. Candace softly murmured, “I must compose 
myself and return to my guests; they will surely miss 
me and think it strange.” 

“Yes, they will certainly miss your presence from 
among them, and you have been some time away. 
Claudia inquired for you, but Marie said you would 
return directly as you had gone to show Gerald a 
new painting which he very much desired to see.” 
Candace’s eyes opened wide with amazement as she 
inquired : 

“Marie said that? How could she have known?” 
But instantly she regained her self-possession. “Yes, 
I remember Duke Gerald said he and Marie were talk- 
ing of the painting today ; it is a gem. Lord Belmont.” 


158 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


Lionel stood gazing earnestly, watching the play of 
her features; he saw there, grief, humiliation and 
pride, and when she mentioned Marie and Gerald’s 
name in connection with the picture gallery, surprise, 
anger and bitterness were visibly written upon her face. 

While they stood talking thus they heard some one 
enter the library; Gerald’s voice was speaking; they 
at once started as if to leave the room, when the words 
he uttered held them spellbound : 

‘‘Marie,” he said, in a voice full of anger and disap- 
pointment, “I have suspected for some time that you 
have been playing me false in this business, and now 
I am sure of it. You told me only yesterday that you 
were sure that she loved me^ — that now she was penni- 
less she would grasp at my offer of marriage, and that 
once my wife, she would learn to love me, if she did not 
now.” He almost hissed the words at her. “When 
you told me that, you lied — listen, Marie, you deliber- 
ately deceived me. She does not love me, but she 
hates me — do you hear, Marie? Hates me! Such 
words from her lips — such words from the lips I have 
plotted, schemed and sinned that I might have the 
pleasure of kissing.” 

Then Marie said in a voice clear and distinct, to the 
horrified listeners : 

“When you say I played you false, your Grace, you 
say what is not true ; I have no love for you it is true, 
but I hate her — hate her because he loved her; and 
when he died I would have willingly turned from her, 
never to look upon her face again, but you, fiend that 
you are, you held me to my promise to help you. I 
did help you, your Grace — I plotted that you might 
see her daily — I helped to carry out these schemes, I 
did tell you that now was the time to bring all things to 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


159 


a close. You know she is robbed of position, is almost 
penniless ; what woman would not rather be a Duchess 
than a penniless outcast? You are mad, your Grace, 
and I tell you she is only playing with you ; it is wom- 
an’s weapon, to make man’s love all the more intense.” 

‘‘Stop, Marie. You will see whether I am mad or 
not. I am surprised at you ; one would think a woman, 
and that woman, one with a superior intellect, and one 
thoroughly conversant with the world, would have a 
keener insight into another woman’s heart and mind, 
than a man, but listen, Marie, this I know; if I ever 
win Lady Charlston for my wife, it will be by sharpest 
strategy. I offered to her upon my bended knees my 
fortune, my love, my life. You know what she did, 
you, who say she will gladly become Duchess of Or- 
loff? Why, she scorned my offer — she told me she 
hated me, that she only loved her dead husband.” 

“You are a fool, Gerald! Show her that you mean 
to win, do not let her scorn weaken your purpose, your 
firm resolve. She has not become accustomed to her 
true position — she has not yet begun to feel the slights, 
the sneers of society. She is proud, this pride will 
prompt her to grasp for higher things, socially, than 
Sir Winton Charlston’s penniless widow can retain.” 

Candace and Lord Belmont, unwilling listeners to 
this conversation, were more than astounded. Every 
particle of color receded from Candace’s face. Once 
or twice Lord Belmont saw her waver and tremble as if 
she would fall dead at his feet. He unconsciously took 
her cold little hands in his, but said not a word — he 
himself could not move, could not utter a sound, he was 
completely lost and bewildered; could he believe what 
he heard ? 

Candace, pale in her black robes, listened to the two 


160 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


whom she had thought were her truest friends; one 
hand she lifted to her white brow and pressed to her 
throbbing temples, as if to clear a mist away from her 
dazed brain. She stood thus a moment, and then fell 
in a swoon at Lord Belmont’s feet. 

He was dazed; he did not know what he ought to 
do; but his first thought was to shield her, not to let 
them know how they had stricken her to the ground. 
He gently gathered her in his strong arms, noiselessly 
opened the door and stepped quickly out into the corri- 
dor. 

He carried her to her boudoir, laid her upon the 
couch and rang for the maid Jessica, who came swiftly 
at the mad call; in alarm at seeing her mistress ill, 
she asked him : 

‘‘What is it. Sir? What can have happened to my 
Lady?” 

“Hush, Jessica,” he observed. “She has fainted ; get 
restoratives quickly and quietly, but get them.” He 
gently chafed the cold hands and he thought, as he 
watched the beautiful, unconscious face: 

“My poor, beautiful darling, you are indeed what I 
thought you to be — an angel.” Jessica returned with 
smelling salts and brandy. They bathed the pulse with 
the brandy, put a few drops between the pale lips, and 
directly she gave signs of returning consciousness. 

Upon opening her eyes Lord Belmont saw how full 
they were of pain. She looked at him for a moment, 
then closed them again; he saw great tears emerging 
from between the closed lids. 

He told the maid to go for Claudia, but to say not 
a word to any one else. The maid having gone to do 
the bidding, Candace opened her eyes and said : 

“Lord Belmont, what can it all mean? I am be- 
wildered ; did I hear aright ?” 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


161 


‘^Yes, dear Lady Charlston, you heard aright ; so did 
I ; but never fear, I will set things right, I will be your 
friend.” 

When she heard Claudia’s rapid footsteps, she urged : 
“Do not let her know ; she loves him.” 

As Claudia entered with a look of alarm and fear, 
Lord Belmont spoke: “Lady Charlston had the mis- 
fortune to fall in a swoon while coming down the 
lower corridor. I fortunately was near and I brought 
her here ; as she is better, I will leave her to your care, 
Lady Vincent.” When he left the room Claudia fell 
to her knees beside Candace’s couch, and kissed her, 
saying : 

“How did it all happen, darling sister? You tried 
to bear your trials and burdens too bravely.” 

“No, it is merely nothing,” said Candace; “I shall 
be better soon ; but Claudia, dear, I do not think I shall 
return to the drawing-room this evening; will you be 
so kind as to carry my regrets to my guests?” 

“Yes, dear, and I will remain with you until you are 
stronger.” 

“No, Claudia, much as I love you, you must leave 
me. I will be all the better from being alone — I want 
absolute quiet and rest, I want to think. Come tomor- 
row, Claudia, but tonight I want to be alone.” Every 
vestige of color faded from the beautiful face which 
looked so earnestly up into Claudia’s; every gleam of 
light died out of the dark eyes. 

Something of her utter despair touched Claudia; a 
heavy sob broke from her lips as she buried her face 
in the pillows beside Candace and gave vent to her 
pent up sorrow for her friend and sister. Then she 
suddenly raised her head. 

“Why should you suffer?” she asked with sudden 


162 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


fierceness, her eyes gleaming, her face unusually pale. 
“You have done no wrong.” 

“Hush, dear,” said Candace, “it seems to be a gen- 
eral law that every one must suffer.” 

“Every one?” questioned Claudia, in a faint voice. 
“Then what will my own sorrow be, I wonder? I 
have, as yet, never had a touch of it.” 

“Heaven grant that you may never have,” said Can- 
dace, and she shivered as she thought of her own great 
sorrows. “Whatever the future may hold for me, it 
can hold no more terrible moment than this one, that 
of looking my last upon the only friend whom I ever 
could trust.” The sadness in her eyes deepened as 
they dwelt upon her. At last Claudia spoke as she 
lifted her head from the pillows : 

“I must leave you, dear Candace ; I would rather re- . 
main, but it shall be as you wish. I will come again 
tomorrow. You must rest, dear, and do not grieve; 
be strong, be brave, dear sister.” And she kissed her 
many times. 

She finally bade her good-night and took her depar- 
ture. Candace let her eyes rest upon her with a look 
of mute, despairing farewell. 

The guests, upon hearing of Candace’s sudden ill- 
ness, expressed their regrets and made their adieus, but 
in the hearts and minds of three of these guests there 
were wonder, chagrin, and resentment. Wonder in the 
mind of Lady Marie ; she could not realize how an offer 
of marriage from Duke of Orloff could distress Can- 
dace; it must be the exertion of keeping up under the 
terrible strain put upon her by her bitter disappoint- 
ment at the sudden reverse of fortune. She mused 
then: “It is all the better for Gerald; it will bring 
her to view the situation as it is.” 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


163 


Duke Gerald was crestfallen with chagrin, and pitied 
himself in his wretched selfishness. He felt that he 
loved her all the more because she had rejected him 
and vowed that she would be driven to accept his love, 
his protection, his name. 

Lord Belmont in his heart felt contempt for the two 
who could so far forget themselves as to plot to per- 
secute an innocent being, and that a woman. He re- 
solved to himself: 

“Gerald shall give an account to me, as Winton’s 
and Lady Charlston’s friend.” 

As they were each taking leave of the other, Bel- 
mont said to Gerald: 

“Call at my home tomorrow at ten; I particularly 
wish to speak with you.” 

Gerald looked at him in some surprise at the cold, 
strained tones of Lord Belmont. In reply he said: 
“I shall come, Lionel; but is there anything wrong? 
Surely, Belmont, you, who are said to be proof against 
all such, have not fallen in love; and you are looking 
serious, with a proccupied air — one of the first symp- 
toms, my Lord Lionel.” But in answer to his banter- 
ing tone and mocking words, Lionel only lifted his 
head higher. 

“Let it be as I say, ten tomorrow — then I shall ex- 
plain everything ; until then, adieu, your Grace.” 

When Candace was left alone pale and agitated, she 
paced the floor, and raised her eyes toward Heaven. 
In them one could see a depth of human sorrow and 
woe, which words are powerless to express. “What 
have I done that I must suffer so cruelly ? What have 
I done? It is cruel — it is more than that, it is in- 
famous! It is vengeance worthier of a fiend than of 
a woman.” And she cried, “I loved her so, my faith 


164 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


in her was implicit.” And we find her, this beautiful, 
persecuted woman, as in the beginning of our story — 
falling to her knees, pleading with God for endurance, 
for help and strength. 

She arose and pressed her dazed and throbbing brow 
with her cold and trembling white hand. 

‘‘Yes, I heard distinctly — she hates me because Win- 
ton loved me. As for Duke of Orloff, I will never 
look upon his wicked face again. I will go — yes, I will 
go this very night — I will flee from persecution, from 
their wicked plotting, then they cannot either harm or 
molest me.” Standing in earnest, thoughtful medita- 
tion, she rang for her maid, and said : 

“Jessica, you may brush my hair; brush it well; then 
I shall retire. I am tired, Jessica.” 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


165 


CHAPTER XIX 

After dismissing the maid Lady Charlston sat for 
many hours buried in thought. There was no more 
fainting, no sign of it; only a white face, with white 
lips and great, sorrowful eyes. Once or twice during 
this long period of thinking her lips moved, but no 
sound came from them, only a long-drawn, quavering 
sigh, like the faint wail of a winter’s wind. 

“I must bear it to the end.” She approached her 
writing-desk, and with tears falling fast down the pale, 
lovely face, she wrote: 

‘‘Dear Claudia — While bidding you good-night this 
evening, I felt I was looking perhaps my last on the 
face I love best in the world. Dear sister, yes, my 
more than sister, I have had a great sorrow come upon 
me of which I can speak to no one. It has all but killed 
me, but it must remain with me alone, and unknown to 
you, or else it would pierce you as it has me. I am 
going away tonight, my trials are too great here; I 
could not bear them and live. 

“Do not grieve for me ; I am in the hands of Provi- 
dence. I shall emerge from the storms through which 
I am passing, with a mind and soul stronger and 
purer, bringing to me full life and strength of woman- 
hood. I shall long for you with an ever increasing 
longing, but dear, it has been given to me, perhaps, as 
a compensation for all that I have undergone, and that 
is still left for me to undergo, to grasp a more endur- 
ing end, than that of earthly ecstacy, for I look for- 
ward with a confident assurance to the day when I 
shall meet you upon the threshold of the Infinite. 


166 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


“You remember, Claudia, when I was so plunged in 
grief at the death of my loved husband, you came to 
me, led me step by step into a new life, that is now my 
only comfort. You remember, you said to me — Xearn, 
dear Candace, to look Heavenward with a faith that 
he is there ; you will receive his divine inspiration ; your 
heart will grow stronger ; your very soul will be kindled 
with an inspiration that will lead you onward and up- 
ward above earthly sorrow;’ how true it all is. I can 
hardly explain it to you on paper, dear ; but sometimes, 
it may be at night, or when I am sitting alone in the 
day-time, a great calm comes upon me. I am a changed 
woman; I seem to have great courage, great inspira- 
tions, all my thoughts rise into a higher, purer air, and 
are, as it were, tinged with a reflected light. 

“Everything earthly seems to pass from me, and I 
feel as though fetters had fallen from my soul, and I 
know I am with Winton; then everything passes away, 
and I am left myself again. 

“The thoughts I have at these times, ah ! Claudia, I 
wish I could tell you, but they pass away with him 
who brought them, leaving nothing but a vague after- 
glow in my mind, like that upon the sky after the sun 
sets. But it guides and directs me; the same sweet 
voice is whispering for me to go, to flee this night, and 
I would not think of disobeying, so now, darling sister, 
I must bid you farewell. Be happy, be good, be true 
always; do not grieve for me. With love, 

“Candace;.-'" 

It was far in the night when Candace finished her 
letter ; she shed many bitter tears over it. She folded 
the sheets blotted with her tears, and placed them in 
an envelope, and addressed it to Claudia. Where it 
could be readily seen upon her writing-desk, she placed 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


167 


it. Then she wandered around the rooms, as if to take 
leave of home and everything dear to her. 

She gazed long and lovingly upon the statues of 
marble, costly bric-a-brac, many of them gifts from 
Sir Winton. It was a bitter experience and wrung 
her soul. 

“How many happy hours have I passed here? It 
is like leaving real friends; how I wish I might carry 
each one of you away with me !” Then as dawn began 
to steal into the windows, she opened the door and 
stepped out into the corridor, went quietly down the 
long, broad hall looking at and caressing everything. 
She ascended the marble steps to the picture gallery; 
here she approached Sir Winton’s picture, and gazed 
into the smiling face. 

For a time she seemed to be lost in thought; but 
finally she smiled in sympathy with the smiling face 
on the canvas. As if on an inspiration, she stepped 
upon a low chair, removed the picture from its fasten- 
ings, letting it to the floor; then quickly withdrew the 
canvas from the magnificent frame and held it up be- 
fore her. 

“Oh, Winton, I could not go without you 

Soon she entered her dressing-room, donned a long, 
black travelling cloak, a thick black veil, drawn closely 
about her neat travelling hat, and then started, but 
returned again and again to gaze upon some loved ob- 
ject; finally she went down the stairs, down the long, 
broad corridor, softly opened the great, oaken doors, 
and stepped out upon the broad stone terrace. She 
looked quickly around to see that no one was yet astir. 
Her fears allayed, she called to James, the coachman, 
who was sitting at the far end of the driveway. 

“Drive quickly to B station, as I want to catch 

the morning express.” 


168 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


James, after closing the doors of the carriage, placed 
the baggage upon the seat. Now poor Candace has fled 
from the home she has loved so much. 

As a final direction, she said, ‘‘Drive home, and say 
to no one who may inquire that you brought me here. 
Do you hear, James?” 

“Yes, my Lady, you may trust me; I would die first.” 

Lady Candace knew poor, old faithful James would 
do just as he was told. 

Candace made her way into the station, procured 
her baggage on the down express. She entered a first- 
class apartment, wearily took her seat, and laid her 
throbbing head upon the cushions. Thus we leave her. 

^ il« Hi * 

At ten o’clock the following morning the door-bell 
at the Belmont mansion rang. A pompous footman 
answered the ring and admitted Duke of Orloff. Lead- 
ing the way to the library he opened the door and an- 
nounced “His Grace, the Duke of Orloff.” Gerald 
bade Lord Belmont a pleasant good-morning, and ex- 
tended his hand, which Lionel merely touched with 
the tips of his fingers. 

“Be seated, please, I have something to say to you !” 
and Gerald, watching him closely, saw his eyes flam- 
ing with anger. 

“Gerald!” cried Lord Belmont, “I have never been 
more disappointed in any man than I am in you.” 

“In what way?” asked Gerald, curtly. 

“In this, that I thought you a gentleman.” 

“How have I proved myself otherwise?” he asked. 

Lionel thought as he watched the sneering, smiling, 
handsome face, “I believe he is more devil than man.” 

“Listen.” And there was that in his voice which 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


169 


compelled obedience. ‘‘You ask, ‘how you have proved 
yourself otherwise?’ Would a gentleman enter into 
a conspiracy against another, and that other a woman ?” 
Gerald raised his head with a haughty look of wonder. 

“What do you know, my Lord, of my entering into 
a conspiracy, and why do you presume so far as to 
criticise or say to me what I shall or shall not do ?” 

They looked at each other, measuring their forces 
one against the other. 

“I will say more than that,” replied Lord Belmont. 
“I will say that I heard every word that passed be- 
tween Lady Marie and yourself in the library at Charls- 
ton Place last evening, .as did Lady Charlston.” 

“Heard?” and Gerald advanced a step toward Lio- 
nel, with fear and anger plainly visible upon his face, 
repeating, “Lady Charlston, Candace, heard? Then 
all is lost!” Lionel watched him with contempt and 
said : 

“Gerald, are you mad ? No sane man would do any 
such things as you are doing and saying.” 

“I make no pretense of being a saint,” said Gerald. 
“I love her and shall do my best to win her; whether 
I succeed or fail lies between herself and Heaven ; but 
no fear of you or dread of what you may do, will 
interfere with me.” 

“That is a challenge,” said Lord Belmont. “It is 
far better that we understand each other. We have 
been good friends ; but, Gerald, unless you change your 
tactics we shall become bitterest enemies. No gentle- 
man can hear what I heard last evening and see an 
innocent woman pursued and persecuted by a fiend of 
a man who calls himself a gentleman, and by a revenge- 
ful woman who is supposed to be a lady, and not in- 
terfere. So now, Gerald, I warn you to take care — ■ 


170 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


you and Lady Marie have not only a beautiful, loving 
woman to fight and conquer, but you have me, as her 
friend and protector to do battle with you; do you 
hear, Gerald?’' 

“Ah! ha!” replied Gerald in a sarcastic tone. “So 
you, my Lord, love her ! I begin to see you ; you wish 
me to relinquish all hopes of winning her, that you 
may have carte-blanche. I begin to understand your 
pretended friendship, your gentlemanly feeling in the 
matter.” 

“Stop!” cried Lionel. “We will not speak of my 
love, my feelings, but this I say to you, Duke of Or- 
loff, win her if you can, but win her by fair means 
you must, for when I saw her yesterday, stricken like 
a broken lily, I took a solemn oath then to stand as her 
protector, to fight for her if necessary to the bitter 
end. Do you hear, Gerald? I mean every word I 
have said to you — I will be an open foe, your Grace, 
but not an easy one to conquer. She may forgive you 
and Marie, but so help me Heaven, if I were she I 
would not. I am doing what Winton would do if he 
were here — protect her, if necessary, with my life.”* 
And as he finished this speech, white anger was flam- 
ing in his eyes. Gerald could not but help look at him 
in admiration, as his noble, frank, patrician face now 
glowed with anger. His fine, manly form looked 
kingly as he stood with head up-raised, and arms folded 
across his broad chest — fear or an unmanly deed looked 
like a thing unknown to him. 

“I may bid good-bye, then, to my old friend, Lionel 
Belmont. Henceforth, we shall be acknowledged ene- 
mies, for,” with a haughty sneer, “I resent your in- 
terference, my Lord.” 

“Good-bye,” said Lionel. “I mean all I have said.” 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


171 


While this scene was being enacted at Lord Bel- 
mont’s mansion, a far different one was going on at 
Charlston Place. Servants, everywhere, were excited 
and alarmed — greatest confusion and disorder was 
everywhere visible. Candace, Lady Charlston, was 
nowhere to be found. Some of the servants were 
weeping bitterly, others shaking their heads mourn- 
fully. 

‘‘I told you so; poor, dear mistress has gone to de- 
stroy herself ; she is too sad and lonely without master.” 

Jessica had waited long and patiently for her mis- 
tress’ morning ring. “Poor dear, she is resting. Well, 
it is what she needs; I will not molest her.” But as 
hour after hour went by, and still no call, she became 
alarmed, and going to the door of the sleeping-room 
rapped repeatedly. No answer came, so she finally 
opened the door softly and looked in. And horrors! 
there was the dainty white and gold bed, but her mis- 
tress was not there, neither had the bed been occupied. 

What could it mean ? No trace of her ! She searched 
room after room. In the boudoir she saw the writing- 
desk open and upon it the letter sealed and addressed 
to Lady Claudia Vincent. 

“Oh, what can it mean ? I fear something is wrong, 
terribly wrong. What shall I do ? What shall I do ?” 
Hastily she touched the bell, and in a few moments 
Mrs. Middleton, the housekeeper, appeared. 

“What is it; did Lady Charlston ring? Seeing the 
maid in tears, she cried in dismay: 

“What is the matter, Jessica? Speak, do not sit 
there silent.” 

“Oh, Mrs. Middleton, I am so alarmed; I cannot find 
my Lady; she has not slept in her bed all this night; 
nothing has been disturbed, only I find this letter ad- 
dressed to Lady Vincent; what shall we do?” 

12 


172 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


‘Was your mistress in trouble or distress, Jessica?’^ 

“Oh, I cannot tell — I do not know. She was either 
very ill or some great trouble had come upon her. She 
fainted last evening, and she looked so silent and pale 
when I bade her good-night. I slept in the adjoining 
sleeping-room that I might hear her should she ring. 
She looked so ill, so distressed, I feared to leave her, 
but she dismissed me. I had to go — oh, I am so 
sorry that I slept at all !” 

Mrs. Middleton was both puzzled and bewildered. 
She went from room to room as had poor Jessica, but 
found no trace of her. 

“Be quiet, Jessica; she may have only gone for a 
morning walk and stayed later than usual. Do not 
arouse the servants, and later, if she does not appear, 
we will see what can be done.” 

“Oh, Mrs. Middleton, something tells me she is 
gone — gone. What shall I do?” 

“Be quiet, Jessica; you must; until I can make 
further inquiries.” The entire mansion and grounds 
showed no trace. The old gardener, Charles, in re- 
sponse to Mrs. Middleton’s anxious inquiry, said, “No, 
I have not seen my Lady today.” 

Then she made the same inquiry of James, the coach- 
man, and James, never looking toward her, answered, 
“No, Mrs. Middleton, indeed I have not.” 

She inquired of each and every one if they had seen 
Lady Charlston, but in such a quiet, indifferent man- 
ner, as not to arouse their curiosity or excite their 
minds. 

After hours of searching, she returned to Candace’s 
apartments, where Jessica was still weeping. On 
hearing Mrs. Middleton enter Jessica began to dry her 
tears, thinking it Lady Charlston, and said : 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


173 


“Oh, my La—!” But seeing that it was Mrs. 
Middleton, she fell to weeping piteously. 

“Hush, Jessica ! You must not cry. But I begin to 
fear something must be done. She is nowhere in the 
house or grounds — we will send a message to Lady 
Vincent; perhaps she can explain all.” They immedi-' 
ately dispatched one of the servants with a message 
for Claudia to come to Charlston Place at once. 

A few hours of anxious waiting, and Claudia’s car- 
riage entered the driveway. She quickly made her way 
to Lady Candace’s boudoir, thinking that Candace was 
seriously ill. 

Noiselessly she opened the door so as not to dis- 
turb her, and Heavens ! what can it be ? There by the 
window stood the housekeeper, Mrs. Middleton, de- 
spair written on her face, and Jessica, Candace’s maid, 
sitting upon a low ottoman, weeping as if her heart 
would break. 

“What can be the matter ? Is Lady Charlston 
ill?” 

“Oh, Lady Vincent,” cried Jessica, “my poor, dear 
mistress is gone — gone, I fear and destroyed herself!” 
Claudia’s face turned ashen white. 

“What does she mean, Mrs. Middleton ? Speak, tell 
me at once; I cannot bear this suspense, it is suffo- 
cating.” 

“Dear Lady,” answered the housekeeper, “Lady 
Charlston has not been seen today; she is nowhere in 
the house or grounds. Here is a letter addressed to 
you; we found it here upon the writing desk; it is in 
her writing, it may solve the mystery, for mystery I 
feel sure there is attached to her disappearance.” 

Claudia hurriedly opened the letter; her hands 
trembled so that she could scarcely read. Her eyes 


174 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


and face took on a look of startling horror ; she read 
a few lines, and then the letter fell from her trembling 
fingers. She threw up her hands in anguish, and ex- 
claimed : 

“Oh, Heaven, can it be true? No, no, not that! I 
did not read aright,” and great tears poured down the 
now bewildered face. Again she picked up the letter 
and read. 

“Yes, she is gone. Quickly, Mrs. Middleton, some- 
thing must be done! Your mistress is gone; has fled 
from persecution, or sorrow that has come upon her — 
something she dare not tell to any one. Oh, darling 
sister, why did you not trust me? Mrs. Middleton, 
send a servant for Duke of Orloff. Something must 
be done — he will know best what to do, and he is her 
friend. Poor, darling Candace, she has let brooding 
and sorrow drive her to desperation.” Claudia, her 
nerves unstrung, fell wearily on the couch and buried 
her face in the pillows. 

When the fountain of tears was spent, she rose and 
read and re-read the letter. At last a quietness came 
over her. 

“Such a wealth of goodness, of love, and intelli- 
gence! Yes, I feel she is indeed in the hand of Provi- 
dence. God cares for his own, and it is the great soul 
within that attracts every one to her. The same soul 
and noble mind will lead her safely, I feel certain. 
But we must find her. I am sure Gerald can do some- 
thing. Oh, how I wish he would come quickly — I 
feel that I cannot wait, I must go to Candace, to com- 
fort her.” 

Then she had Jessica repeat to her everything that 
occurred after her leaving Lady Charlston the even- 
ing before. 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


175 


CHAPTER XX 

Jessica tearfully told her all. said Claudia, 

^^that is why she wanted to be alone. Now, what 
could have happened? Something which she can tell 
to no one — not even me — whom she loves and trusts, 
because it would pierce me to the heart. 

“Me? Now, what could that be, to hurt me? It 
can’t be anything about Gerald, no, it can’t be that! 
She knows that I love him with all my heart, and that 
he loves me — no, it can’t be anything about him, for 
she approves of our love, and says she knows I will 
be happy — oh, what can it be? 

“I wish Gerald would come ; how long he is getting 
here — how impatient I am, and how grieved he will 
be !” A servant entered with Duke of Orloff ’s carte-de- 
visite. 

Looking in wonder at not seeing Lady Charlston, he 
paused, then said: 

“Tell my Lady, Duke of Orloff waits in the drawing- 
room.” 

“Show him up here,” said Claudia. 

The servant bowed. In a few moments a low knock 
at the door. Jessica answered it. Claudia whispered, 
“You may go, Jessica; I wish to speak to him alone.” 

The Duke, with a smiling, expectant face, entered, 
but the smile vanished instantly when he saw Claudia 
alone and in tears. 

“Lady Charlston, did she send for me? Is she ill? 
What does it mean ? You are in tears.” 

“Oh, Gerald, Gerald, read!” She watched him as 


176 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


he read, his face grew white as death ; he nervously bit 
his mustache; then after reading it to the very close, 
he threw it upon the floor and stamped his foot upon it. 

“Lost! All is lost!’' Up and down the room he 
walked hurriedly. “God! Is fate defying me? Marie 
has played the traitor, curse her !” he hissed. Claudia 
stood like one stricken dumb, her hands half raised in 
horror, her eyes opened wide with a mystified look in 
them. 

“Curse her !” repeated Gerald. 

Claudia laid her hand upon his arm. 

“Gerald, speak, tell me — dear — what is it? What 
does it all mean? What do you know of Candace, 
Lady Charlston?” 

Gerald, white with anger, struck her hand from his 
arm. 

“Do not touch me, do not come near me! I could 
curse all woman-kind — false, faithless creatures, made 
beautiful to torture the hearts of men. Do you hear? 
Torture, I say, for I loved her with all my heart, and 
now I have lost her. 

“I plotted and schemed that I might call her mine 
— I offered her on my bended knees, my life, my for- 
tune, my all; she has repaid me by flinging my love, 
my offer, in my face — she has fled from me. I ought 
to curse her,” placing his hand upon his brow, “but I 
love her still!” 

No punishment is greater than that to love with a 
hopeless love ; he fell exhausted into a chair when he 
realized that he was crushed, betrayed, outwitted. 

Claudia — who can depict her feelings? She was 
stunned, bewildered, incredulous. She looked with 
fear, despair and pity upon him whom she loved. 
Could it be possible he loved Candace, and not her? 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


m 


^^Oh, pity me, pity me!” she exclaimed, and felt she 
must surely fall to the floor. But when she saw Gerald 
sitting in the chair in such utter abandonment, sym- 
pathy and pity filled her heart, and she started toward 
him; she remembered he repulsed her only a moment 
ago, and she hesitated; then her eyes filled with tears. 
She went forward, then stopped again, but she loved 
him, and could not see him suffer — she must comfort 
him. She touched his bowed head, and spoke : 

^‘Gerald, dear, I am so sorry; I would give my life 
to make you happy. You have taught me to love 
you, dear, you have led me to believe that you loved 
me. Now, I know you love another, but my love is 
so great, so loyal and true, I would far rather see you 
happy, than to be happy myself. 

“Listen, dear, I pray that we may find her; I love 
her, too, Gerald; she is good, noble and true — if you 
can win her love, you have indeed won a treasure; I 
might have known you could not love me after hav- 
ing seen her; she is peerless. 

“She may have fled, not because she did not love 
you, but because she knew that I love you; she is 
noble as she is beautiful ; she may have sacrificed home, 
friends, love, everything, to give me happiness. 

“Be brave and hopeful, dear Gerald; we will find 
her.” 

Gerald felt, as he heard those sweet words of sym- 
pathy, praise and love from one whom he knew he had 
wilfully deceived, that he not only despised and hated 
himself, but that he hated the whole world, now that 
Candace was lost to him forever. 

Fate was against him, try as he would, failure met 
him on every side; he raised his bowed head, and 
Claudia saw how changed, how haggard and worn was 
his face. 


178 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


beg you to forgive, I am more than grieved that I 
allowed anger to rule me, but the shock was too great. 
That I love her, Claudia, I cannot deny, but I am sorry 
for deceiving you — sorry that you love me; you are 
good, and noble, you deserve a better fate. 

‘T confess to you here, my pretended love for you 
sprang from selfishness ; I wanted to see Lady Charls- 
ton ; I could not live without the sunlight of her pres- 
ence ; I fell upon the plan of posing as your lover, be- 
cause you were almost constantly with her. 

“It afforded me great pleasure, but you were sacri- 
ficed — you were too good for that, but it was my 
only hope. I tell this now, that your love for me will 
turn to hatred; it is what I deserve, and then you 
would not suffer.’’ 

“Suffer I shall — hate you, Gerald? I never can — 
help you, I will; the time may come when you will 
need comfort, some one to trust; come to me then, 
I will not fail you.” And he thought how kind, how 
generous, how good she was, how different from 
Marie. How he hated Marie! 

“Now,” said Claudia, “something must be done; 
Candace must be found, Gerald; poor dear, she is ill, 
and perhaps alone.” 

“She says nothing of where she is going,” put in 
Duke Gerald, “she evidently intends to be lost to us 
forever, but I feel that I cannot live without her. Clau- 
dia, I will and must find her, and now, I must bid 
you good morning, I want to be alone, to think — I 
must endeavor to trace her whereabouts — I will move 
Heaven and earth to find her — I will win her yet.” 

As his words fell upon Claudia’s ear, a hope sprang 
in her heart that he may be successful in his search, 
and find Candace, that he may win her love and be 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


179 


happy. She heard his receding footsteps in the corri- 
dor, as he went his way, maddened and crushed by 
the pain in his heart; she heard the great hall door 
close, then she fell to weeping, a broken reed, swayed 
by a blighting storm of anguish and grief. 

She again tried to read Candace’s letter ; she might 
have as well tried to fly as to read — the words swam 
in a mist before her. Where should she go to forget 
the sickness of the despair that was upon her? 

A sudden sense of the cruelty and injustice of her 
fate came over her, a burning blush rose to her fair 
face. “Why should I, with my young power, my gifts 
of mind and body, be sacrificed, so cruelly thrown 
away? How could he,” she cried aloud, “how could 
he do it? It was cruel to make me love him when 
he loved another. I believed him to be all that was 
good and noble — I believed him to be truth itself. 

“Truth! Bah, what is truth?” she asked herself. 
“I have not found it in the heart of man — I have not 
found it in love.” Raising her face, she turned her 
eyes heavenward, “I will find it in Heaven, where the 
light of the ‘Divine Face’ will shine forever and for- 
evermore I” 

And Marie, ah! could it be possible? He said he 
had plotted, schemed and sinned to win her, and in 
his anger he cursed Marie, called her a traitor — did 
he mean that Marie had been a traitor to Candace? 
No, it was not that; Marie could not, would not harm 
Lady Charlston. 

How angry Gerald was! His face was livid with 
anger, and the strange thing was, he seemed to be 
speaking in spite of himself. Ah ! how he loves Lady 
Charleston — does she love him?” And she placed her 
hand upon her heart; ah! a pain — a jealous, horrible 
pain that seemed to tear her heart. 


180 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


She forgot Candace, she forgot her wish that he 
might find her, and that she would love him and make 
him happy — she forgot the whole world, and for the 
time she only remembered him and her love for him. 
Then rising, she stood in thoughtful meditation. 

‘‘How weak, how foolish, how wicked I am. Why 
should I care? He deceived me. Ah, me! it is like 
an evil dream, my whole soul is sick with pain; yet 
much as I love him, I would willingly give him to Can- 
dace. I prefer his happiness to mine, and he does 
love her — but does Candace love him?’’ 

She weighed and considered the matter. Her heart 
beat so loudly, her eyes burned, but still she could not 
think that Candace loved him. 

“She loved only Sir Winton.” 

She remained at Charlston Place until far into the 
evening, then sick at heart, and weary of life almost, 
she entered her carriage and returned home. 

Earl of Garswood, her uncle, with whom she lived 
and whom she loved as dearly as a father, for she 
had known no other father since childhood, said to 
her, “Claudia, dear, what can have happened to you, 
child? You are ill, I fear.” 

“No, Uncle Jasper, I am not ill.” And sitting be- 
side him, she told him of the flight of Candace. He, 
knowing how dearly she loved Lady Charlston, said : 

“How can it be possible? Claudia, do you really 
mean she is gone, and you cannot learn of her where- 
abouts ?” 

“Yes, Uncle Jasper, she is gone, fled from trouble 
and sorrow. You know, uncle, she is left almost 
penniless by Sir Winton’s leaving no will. She is 
proud ; she has been queen of London for so long that 
I imagine it is bitter as death.” 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


181 


‘‘But, Claudia, you mean to tell me that she fled 
because she was left out of Sir Winton’s will? It 
does not seem to me that Lady Charlston was a 
woman to become crazed from loss of fortune — she 
is thoroughly sensible, a woman among women. Are 
you sure, Claudia, there was not a more serious 
cause?” Claudia, who was always truth itself, could 
not, to save her life, but shield the man she loved; 
she could not bring herself to utter even to her uncle, 
who was very dear to her, the words that would 
brand him, to a rnan of such pure and lofty ideas of 
honor as her Uncle Jasper, as a villain; she could 
not, to save her, say the words to her uncle that 
were still ringing in her ears — his own words, spoken 
in his mad grief and anger — “I loved Lady Charls- 
ton with all my heart, and now I have lost her; I 
plotted, schemed and sinned, that I might call her 
mine; I offered her my fortune, my life, and she 
has repaid me by fleeing from me.” Oh, no, she 
could never say those words to Uncle Jasper, or 
any one — she must shield him whom she loved so 
much. It would break her heart to hear any one, es- 
pecially Uncle Jasper, speak of him with contempt. 
They talked long and earnestly about Candace, and 
the Earl of Garswood promised Claudia that every 
effort to find poor, sorrowing Lady Charlston would 
be made. 

After dinner, on that weary, never-ending even- 
ing, Claudia bade her uncle and aunt good-night, and 
retired to her room, but not to sleep. She was the 
only one in the castle awake that night, and it seemed 
to her that she could never sleep again. She tossed 
restlessly to and fro; there was no repose for her 
on the white pillows — the hapless, innocent Lady 
Claudia, for whom so much suffering was in store. 


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CHAPTER XXI 

The news of Lady Charlston’s disappearance 
brought distress and wonder to all London ; '"society” 
wondered at it, because it thought how easy her fallen 
fortunes could be repaired by a new title, and be- 
cause it believed that it was in her power to win for 
herself the title of "Duchess.” This was certainly 
balm enough for the healing of any wound. 

Some whispered that she still loved Sir Winton, and 
thought more of his memory than of any living man, 
even though that man might be a duke. This would 
bring many a wise head to shake in disapproval ; love 
was all right, but to let it rule one’s life or stand in 
the way of position was a thing to be denounced, 
and many a wise mother made of this instance a les- 
son for her daughter, telling her that love was noth^ 
ing, wealth everything. And title — title was above 
all things. 

Nevertheless, society loved the beautiful, gracious, 
winsome Lady Charlston, and every one felt a spark 
of pity for the unfortunate woman. 

It is true, her beauty and popularity — for popular 
she surely was — and popularity is always, more or 
less, dangerous to beautiful women — had made her 
some bitter enemies. These, of course, set their 
tongues to wagging, but their evil sayings did not 
meet with any confirmation. 

Rich and poor alike loved the beautiful woman — 
the poor had many reasons to be thankful that she 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


183 


had come among them. Many were the entire fami- 
lies who owed to her generous, loving heart, gratitude 
for all they had. She came among them, meekly, 
like a ministering angel ; she put coin into their purses, 
bread into their mouths, and gave food for the mind 
and intellect. Her sweet, loving wishes fired many 
of the dull, sleeping brains to awake and strive to 
become something, both intellectually and spiritu- 
ally, and so it was — that in her quiet, unobtrusive 
manner, she became a power among London’s poor. 

They worshipped her. It was here among them 
one found the bitterest grief at her sorrow, her mis- 
fortune and disappearance. Many of her closest 
friends never dreamed of the work she had done, and 
was daily doing for humanity. They only thought 
of her as London’s most beautiful society woman. 

When the news reached Marie, she felt something 
like exultation and alarm; both mingled in her heart 
' — exultation at seeing her rival downed. Now she 
was out of the way, she could again reign as queen 
as she had, before Lady Candace appeared and de- 
throned her. 

She felt alarm, because she half feared Gerald’s 
anger. She felt almost certain he would call and 
accuse her of deceiving him and helping Candace. As 
she thought of her, her pretty lips curled with scorn. 

“Help her, I? No! no! I prayed for her down- 
fall, her dethronement, and,” clasping her hands, 
“thank Heaven, it has come. How I hate her, even 
now, that I know she is gone! But I must remain 
cool and collected; I am each moment expecting his 
Grace, Duke of Orloff. A scene I am to have ! 

“His Grace is not particular in what he says, neither 
is his temper of the mildest. I am almost sorry that 


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A LADY OF FRANCE 


he did not get her. To see her the wife of such a 
tyrant and selfish fiend would be all the punishment 
I could ask from Heaven.” She stood musing thus 
for a short half hour, when the Duke, as she had sur- 
mised, was announced. For a moment, she stood 
weak and wavering as this thought struck her. 

'‘Oh, Heaven, what shall I do, if in his anger, he 
should denounce me?” But this weakness only re- 
mained with her for a moment; the next instant she 
was cool, calm and defiant. When she looked up into 
the Duke’s face as he entered, she was surprised at 
both the pain and anger written there. 

“Good-morning, your Grace, pray be seated.” But 
the Duke, in his impatience, declined the chair; walk- 
ing close to her, in agitated tones he uttered : 

“Marie, I believe to Heaven, you have played me 
false, have acted the traitor.” And he almost hissed 
the words at her. 

“If you have, so help me God, you shall be pun- 
ished; as for myself, I would not care, for if I lost 
her, I have lost my all. 

“Did you know that she was in the morning-room, 
she and Lionel, and heard every word that passed be- 
tween us in the library last evening? Did you, on pur- 
pose, secrete her there, that she might hear and learn 
all? — Marie, did you do this?” 

Terror and fright assailed Marie; her cheeks paled, 
her eyes dilated. 

“What do you mean, Gerald? Heard every word 
that passed between us? — Oh, mercy, not that! — Lady 
Charlston and Lord Lionel heard?” 

“Yes, Marie, they heard all. It seems that she, 
Candace, had gone there in anger after my offer 
of marriage. Lionel must have seen her enter and 


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185 


followed her; they were there and heard. Lionel 
heard, and told me as much today.” 

Marie, forthwith, fell to weeping, and, nervously 
walking up and down the room, said: 

^‘Gerald, tell me; I am alarmed; what will Lionel 
do? Was he angry? He always had a great chival- 
rous liking for Candace, and he was Sir Winton’s 
dearest friend; was he angry, Gerald?” She clasped 
him arm nervously. 

“Tell me; I am alarmed. Candace is gone, but, 
Gerald, I fear Lionel.” 

“Yes, he was insanely angry,” replied Gerald. “He 
declared he would take his stand as her friend and 
protector, and do battle for her with his very life if 
necessary. We parted declared enemies.” Marie was, 
by this time, at the highest pitch of excitement; she 
clung to him and wept piteously. 

“Oh, Gerald! Gerald, protect me! Exposure and 
disgrace would kill me. Save me, Gerald, save me! 
Think, I am a poor woman, disgrace would kill me — 
I am proud, I could not endure it ! Think of my poor 
mother, Gerald!” 

“Hush! Marie, I see now that you are innocent 
of the part I thought you had played. My first im- 
pression upon learning of their presence in the library 
was that it had been your doings — a part you had 
played to bring an end to your work, but now, I am 
convinced it was fate against me. Yes, fate, and I 
have lost, but do not fear, Marie, he will not, for 
Candace’s sake, repeat what he heard, but this he 
will do: he will be on the alert — he will do as He 
said, he will protect her with his life. 

“Sometimes, Marie, I almost fear he loves Candace, 
and again, when I see them together, I see how mis- 


186 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


taken I am/' Marie, somewhat relieved at his assur- 
ance that she would not be exposed or disgraced, grew 
quiet and calm once more, and said : 

“Well, I am truly thankful it is ended; I hate her, 
she has been the bane of my life, the only one to cause 
me sorrow; it all serves her right." 

“Stop, Marie! You are presuming, your work is 
not complete. I will, and must find her. You must 
still remain my friend," he added, “my friend, in case 
I need you. You have often said you despised me, 
but you hate her, and making her my wife, would be 
all the punishment you could ask. 

“Well, as to the kind of a husband I would make, 
that does not concern you, but you shall see I will 
love and make my wife happy. I ought to curse her 
fbr fleeing from me, but I love her all the more in- 
tensely — I am all the more determined to conquer her. 
I am glad to find that you did not play me false, I 
would not make a noble foe, Marie," he added, smil- 
ingly. To this. Lady Marie answered: 

“You need not fear, Gerald; had I loved her, I 
would not now be in these environments of yours; as 
I hate her, I shall not be like one to befriend her; so 
rest easy, your Grace." 

Many long hours after his departure, Marie re- 
mained alone, and earnestly meditated over all that 
had passed. In her heart she did not feel one atom 
of pity for poor Candace. She hated Duke of Orloff 
equally as fiercely as she hated Candace; she feared 
Lord Belmont, and then again she thought : 

“It is as Gerald says — he will say nothing for Can- 
dace's sake, and she is gone. If she ever returns, 
it will be as Gerald's wife; then I am safe. I will 
hold my place in society, I will defy Lord Belmont, 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


187 


and yet, why defy him ? He is a gentleman, he would 
never harm a woman — yes, I am safe.” That was 
all she felt was necessary to make her content and 
happy. 

After leaving Marie, Duke of Orloff returned to 
his home and there in the library sat and pondered 
as to what his future action would be in the matter. 
He decided he would not spare money or skill to find 
Candace. It must all be done skilfully. 

‘‘Failure is a thing impossible. What money and 
skill will not do, can’t be thought of.” But he went 
on to muse: “You are all the dearer to me, my darl- 
ing, because you are so unobtainable, but we shall 
see who is to win out in this wild chase. Could it 
be possible she rejected me because of Claudia? No, 
it cannot be that; she told me herself, that she hated 
me! 

“The superb scorn in her beautiful face almost 
drove me mad; Claudia is a very sensible girl, she 
is very easy tamed — some women in her place would 
have made a scene. Bah!” he thought, “how I hate 
women of that calibre — tears, pleading and pretended 
broken hearts!” A half scornful smile curled his 
lips. “They usually forget it in twenty-four hours, 
and are dancing, smiling and flirting the same as ever, 
until another opportunity. Then more tears, more 
broken hearts — so the world goes on; for my part 
I have enough of their silly ‘much ado about 
nothing.’ 

“Yes, I will make Lady Candace Duchess of Orloff, 
and be content and happy forever.” A self satisfied 
air and smile settled upon his face. 

Lord Belmont was bewildered and alarmed when 
he heard of Lady Charlston’s disappearance. He 


13 


188 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


alone knew how she must have suffered, how, when 
she learned of the perfidy of her two most trusted 
friends, she was stricken to the ground like a fragile, 
tender lily blasted by King Frost. 

He alone saw the pain and distress in the great, 
dark eyes, when she asked of him after coming out 
of the swoon: 

‘‘Did I hear aright, Lord Belmont He alone 
saw the tears emerge from between the closed lids. 
How it had all pained and grieved him! He hacf 
told her to trust him; he was her friend, and would 
make things right. 

“But now she is gone, poor, persecuted soul; she 
has taken matters in her own hands, she has fled to 
escape them.’' He considered Gerald a dastard, a 
coward, a villain. 

If he loved her, why did he not try to win her 
love as a man and gentleman should? But such a 
frivolous heart, and shallow mind like Gerald’s could 
never charm or captivate Lady Charlston. 

She is as far and above and beyond him as the 
stars are above the earth. Well, perhaps it is best; 
she will at least have peace.” 

He thought of Marie : “Heavens, such a misguided 
woman! How true is the saying, ‘Hell hath no fury 
like a woman scorned!’ I always thought she loved 
Winton, and now I know. Such revenge, and upon 
a woman.” 

On the following day Lord Belmont held a long, 
earnest conversation with Lawyer Straunton, and the 
outcome of this was that “Charlston Place” was to 
be kept in splendid repair, the necessary servants re- 
tained to keep things in perfect order. Mrs. Middle- 
ton, the housekeeper, was to remain and keep every- 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


189 


thing just as Lady Charlston had left it, not one thing 
to be changed. 

“She may return at any time,” said Lawyer Straun- 
ton to the housekeeper. 

“Your instructions shall be carefully followed, Mr. 
Straunton. I do pray that my Lady may return 
safely. We all loved her; she was kind and gen- 
erous. The whole place is dark and gloomy with- 
out her.” 

The lawyer nervously replied, “It is a very sad thing, 
Mrs. Middleton.” . 

After his departure, the housekeeper murmured to 
herself: “I do not like that man; his manner is 
strange, and his eyes do not look with a clear, steady 
gaze. They are always drooping with a look of hall 
fear, half shame in them. I am glad that I am to 
remain in Lady Charlston’s service; I began to fear 
that I might have to serve under the new heir.” The 
very thoughts of the heir seemed distasteful to the kind 
old woman. 

“Why did my master leave things as he did? 1 
can never understand it. It is a mystery that has 
nonplused every one. He worshipped Lady Charls- 
ton; why give his wealth and lands to one whom he 
could not tolerate?” 

Well, well, strange things do happen in this world; 
but this to me is the strangest of all. It must be 
that my poor Lady ran away to save herself the humil- 
iation of seeing the new heir take what should be hers. 
It must have been bitter as death, and yet how bitter 
to leave the home that was Sir Winton’s and hers, 
where she had been so happy; well, I cannot solve it, 
but I do pray my Lady will come back to us.” As she 
wandered about from room to room, she heaved a 


190 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


great sigh as she saw constant reminders of happy 
days that were gone. 

Another summer had gone, and still no news of 
Lady Charlston. Every effort to find her had been 
in vain. Not a trace of her did they find. 

The Duke of Orloff, as day by day went by, became 
enraged and declared vengeance upon all heads con- 
cerned. Still the fact that there was no success did 
not baffle or daunt him. 

He employed one of the most skilled men of Scot- 
land Yards; wonders had been told him of the 
sagacity of this officer. He was said to be the 
most clever private detective in England. 

Gerald told him the whole facts of the case, and 
offered him a large reward for any information he 
could procure. There was no more to be done; the 
detective told him to leave the matter in his hands, 
and promised to do his best. All at once an idea came 
to Gerald. 

“Of course, she must have gone to her old home 
in France. Where else could she seek refuge?” He 
at once called upon the detective. Then another long 
wait ; but after a few weeks the detective called again 
and reported no progress. 

“She seems,” says the keen, shrewd man, “to have 
vanished completely; I cannot even get a clue to her 
whereabouts.” 

Duke Gerald almost cursed fate. In vain he re- 
doubled his efforts, and increased the offered rewards ; 
he began to find that it was easy to invent probabili- 
ties; inventions were not certainties. He could only 
hope and trust; satisfied that his vast wealth and 
liberal offers would finally bring him success. 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


191 


CHAPTER XXII 

The vague rumors which had floated about the elite 
of all fashionable London, concerning Lady Charls- 
ton, had been a nine days’ wonder. She had gone; 
the warmth of her beauty and her goodness had faded ; 
she was almost forgotten. Lady Marie Westhall was 
once again society’s queen, more popular than ever; 
and she felt thankful that Lady Charlston was re- 
moved from her path. 

‘Tt is impossible for two suns to shine in one hem- 
isphere,” she thought. 

Jealousy had almost marred her life, but now the 
whole world had changed; she was lovely, graceful 
and accomplished. The Duke of Laleham, wherever 
Lady Marie went, was sure to be seen with her. 

Society began its knowing smile; he was her com- 
panion at theatre, opera, balls and everywhere. 

“Will our beautiful Lady Marie become a 
“duchess”? Society paused to ask itself the question, 
then decided in the affirmative. Lady Marie’s heart 
was full of gratified vanity, and anticipated triumph. 

“Everything can be had in this world,” she exulted, 
“by those who know how to get it.” 

There was no more time now to trifle with destiny ; 
the first thing she wished was that she had not the 
management of her own life; that some one else 
would undertake it for her; in this crisis, she would 
have liked a strong mind to guide hers, a strong brain 
to lean upon. She wanted some one to say, “Lady 
Marie, you must marry the Duke of Laleham, it is the 


192 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


best for you;” or, “Lady Marie, you must not marry 
the Duke, it would not be wise.” She was on the 
horns of a dilemma herself; the time had arrived 
when she must decide, marry or not marry; never 
was any one so undecided, and there was no touch 
of love to weigh down the balance. 

On one side, there was desire to reign star among 
men ; on the other, her gratified vanity and ambition, 
the longing to become Duchess of Laleham, to rule 
over a small kingdom. To know that the wealth and 
title of the Duke’s were her own ; the longing to show 
Lord Belmont and Duke of Orloff that she could 
do as she liked; to triumph over the world of fair 
women who envied her. 

There was hardly one good feeling called into life 
on either side; then it suddenly occurred to her in 
her perplexities, that the kindly, loving nature of her 
mother would be the best one to guide her in this 
case. 

“Good girls always do the right thing,” she said to 
herself; “I will be good tonight, and do what Mama 
says,” — a virtuous resolution which quite delighted 
her, and made her feel herself one of the best daugh- 
ters in the world; so when dinner was over, instead 
of going out as usual to ball or opera, she ordered a 
small, bright fire in her boudoir, intending then and 
there to decide her own fate. 

She discarded all splendor; she threw off all jewels 
and ornaments; she loosened the long, thick, golden 
hair, and gave herself up to the spirit of the hour. 
It was a pretty sight — she drew near the fire, and the 
rosy light fell on the fair face — the golden hair, the 
white dress; one little foot, with a dainty slipper, just 
touched the edge of the fender. 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


193 


She lay, with her fair head resting on the back of 
the chair, trying to solve this problem — should she 
marry the Duke or not? Lady Westhall came into 
the beautiful room, which was a fitting shrine for love- 
liness. 

“You wanted to talk to me, Marie?’' she asked. “I 
am quite at your service, my dear.” She, too, seated 
herself where the roseate glow of the fire fell on the 
noble, stately, kindly face. Marie stretched out her 
white arm with languid grace. 

“This will be a consultation. Mama,” she said. “I 
find that I am unable to advise myself or manage my 
own life, so I come to you.” 

“I will do my best, Marie ; but you know, dear, you 
do not like advice, and you do not follow it.” 

“Not as a rule, I admit that, but then you must 
own. Mama, that good advice is seldom palatable — 
the really good advice, I mean; now, on this occa- 
sion,” she continued, amusing herself by wrapping the 
long tresses of golden hair around her white arms, “on 
this occasion. Mama, which ever side you may take, 
will be agreeable to me. I care not which way we 
decide, but we must come to some decision. Mama, 
Duke of Laleham has told me today that he loved 
me.” 

“I am not surprised, Marie; I thought it would 
come to this.” 

“He will be here tomorrow, and I know he is go- 
ing to ask me to marry him — the question is, shall I 
do so, or not?” 

“What does your heart say, Marie?” asked the 
proud woman, yet a kind and loving mother. Lady 
Marie laughed. 

“My heart. Mama? It says nothing at all; it is 
not interested in the matter!” 


194 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


‘‘You do not love him, then?” 

“Love him ! I never thought of such a thing; when 
we discuss my affairs, we may leave love and hearts 
quite out of the question.” 

“Marie, tell me, child; it always seemed to me that 
you once loved Sir Winton Charlston; and do you 
know, at times I feel that you are not the same as 
you once were.” Marie turned her face from the 
glowing light, as she answered: 

“You are mistaken. Mama; I liked Sir Winton, but 
that was all.” 

“Well, I am glad it is so; I feared, Marie, that it 
was otherwise; the Duke is a good, noble man, do 
as you wish.” 

“You look tired. Mama; I thank you so much for 
coming to talk to me; you need not be unhappy over 
me. Mama, I am beginning to almost look forward 
with pleasure to the time when I shall be Duchess of 
Laleham. What a pleasant sound the words have!” 

5l< * 4! 5{: * * * 

The new heir. Sir Frederick Charlston, had taken 
possession of the vast Charlston estate. In appear- 
ance, Sir Frederick in no way resembled Sir Winton; 
he was well educated and well polished; he was of 
medium height and rather inclined to be robust, with 
a shrewd, cunning, half cruel face, little, fierce black 
eyes, and thin, cold lips. 

We find him coarse, almost brutal in some of his 
ideas; selfish, arrogant and vain; had he belonged 
to the middle classes, he would never have been toler- 
ated in polite society; if he had been a poor man, he 
would have been called a boor. Coarse and vulgar, 
he was certainly plebian; but being Sir Frederick 
Charlston, with an ancient title and great possession, 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


195 


all the world would probably flatter him and call him 
‘"eccentric.” 

No wonder Sir Winton’s heart did not go out to 
him; no one could have traced in Sir Frederick the 
faintest resemblance to the noble patrician, Sir 
Winton, a nobleman of the fairest type. 

Things that appeal to the soul, the beatitudes and 
martyrdoms, the spiritual arts and divine aspirations, 
were dumb to him. He was always talking about 
advantages of high birth, of his noble blood — he had 
the mistaken idea that the world was made for him; 
that he, by some especial privilege, was better than 
any one else; that every one must give way to him; 
he ruled his servants and inferiors with insolence and 
tyranny, and they had begun to fear and dislike him. 
He chose bad companions, and was fast becoming pro- 
ficient in all fashionable sins. 

Truly, he had the blood of his mother’s race in his 
veins. Now that he had come into possession of this 
vast wealth and estate, he denied himself nothing; 
he had no thought of any one but himself. He seemed 
to think the world was at his feet, for him to use as 
he would. His servants were beginning to feel the 
burden of his rule. The tenants became distressed, 
and they had hard work to pay him the extra rents 
put upon them, and began to feel his rule was that 
of a tyrant and unfeeling master. 

:|c sK * * 

The Erstmeres of “Verdun Castle” had for many 
generations been one of the wealthiest as well as one 
of the noblest families in England. To the lot of 
the now only living descendant of the race, Lionel, 
Lord Belmont, fell the vast wealth and noble title. 


196 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


Duke Norman of Erstmere, Lord Belmont’s uncle, 
had succeeded to the great estate and title at the 
early age of twenty, but remained unmarried. Lord 
Belmont had in accordance with his late uncle’s wishes 
gone through the usual courses of study, had been 
to Eton and Oxford and had made the usual conti- 
nental tour. 

Duke Norman of Erstmere had seen to it that he 
was educated in the manner befitting his heir, and 
now all this good gift of fame, fortune and wealth 
was noble-hearted Lionel’s. He had also inherited 
the far-famed Erstmere beauty; clear cut features, a 
fine, manly frame, a broad chest and erect, military 
bearing, the clear, straight brows, and a fine, hand- 
some mouth, proud but gentle. 

Looking at him, it was easy to understand his char- 
acter; there was pride in his eyes, on the handsome 
face in the high-bred manner and bearing, but not of a 
common kind. Now that he was Duke of Erstmere, with 
the noblest title in England outside that of Royalty, 
did not affect him. 

He was looked upon as the richest Duke of the 
realm, and beside all this, he had the gift of winning 
men’s hearts. His words were few but eloquent; like 
all great men nobly born, he was utterly devoid of 
vanity and egotism ; in his soul there was no room 
for small vices. 

Lionel, as he sat in the splendidly appointed library 
of ‘‘Erstmere House,” his mansion in London, had beau- 
tiful, tender, graceful ideas come thronging upon him. 
He was making rapid progress as an orator ; eloquent 
words seemed to come to him so naturally. All life 
seemed opening to him. His thoughts fell upon Can- 
dace; he could see her sweet face, he thought of her 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


197 


as he saw her standing in the bright moonlight by the 
lake, in the pale blue velvet gown. How beautiful she 
was. How his very heart seemed to go out to her, 
how he longed to know where she was; to look upon 
her fair, sweet face again. 

‘Why is she silent so long? Does she mean to be 
lost to us forever ?” Then he remembered all he heard 
in the library at Charlston Place. He rose, and walked 
to and fro across the room. 

‘T cannot bear to think of that time.” His face 
flushed with anger. “It was a dastardly, villainous 
intrigue. I can scarcely control my anger when I 
meet Gerald and Marie — such a vile concoction; one 
worthy of a vile, jealous, revengeful woman. 

Ah! it is much better that an innocent, unsuspect- 
ing, loving woman touch a live snake or an adder, 
than to arouse a jealous demon in the heart of an- 
other beautiful woman.” He gazed long, with a look 
of abstraction at the open space before him. 

“So Laleham is to marry her. Heavens ! how I do 
pity him. A woman who could enter into such in- 
trigue, could all but murder! Love, indeed — love 
prompted such wicked deeds ? I cannot think it. The 
lying murmurs of the slanderous world have attributed 
many things to love — no! love, if it is anything, is 
divine. No, it is not the fault of love, it is the fault 
of the promptings of an evil mind. 


198 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


. CHAPTER XXIII 

One of the most beautiful and vivacious women of 
London was the Marchioness Kelso ; she was a 
woman so perfect that the most critical could dis- 
cover no fault in her grace or beauty, in her acts or 
thoughts. Tonight this exquisite woman, mistress of 
one of the greatest mansions in London, was giving 
to a courtly assembly a grand banquet and ball. 

Brilliant, sparkling, dazzling lights, flowers and 
fountains were to be seen everywhere. Carriage after 
carriage rolled up to the gate, left their precious bur- 
dens, and rolled away again. Inside this great man- 
sion was a scene of brilliance and magnificence; beau- 
tiful women were everywhere. 

In one of the reception chambers of the palace, a 
knot of those who guide the destinies of nations were 
standing conversing, one of them being Lionel, Duke 
of Erstmere. He was leaning his arm on an ebony 
cabinet, and was turned slightly away from the bril- 
liantly thronged rooms. 

The ministers who were speaking with him paused 
and broke off their discourse and glanced through the 
rooms. ‘%ook said one, ‘‘did you ever see so mag- 
nificent a creature?” 

Lionel turned his head, and did as they bade him; 
among the brilliant throng he saw Lady Marie, dia- 
mond crowned, with a dress that shown and gleamed 
like moonbeams on the snow. 

“Isn’t she beautiful?” said another. 

“Yes, she is very beautiful,” said Lionel under his 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


199 


breath, and a moment later she passed close to him, 
Duke Gerald by her side. She glanced at Lionel; 
their glances met: in her eyes there came a look of 
recognition; over his face passed a flash of defiance, 
of pleasure and of apprehension all commingled. 

The look was gone, but he had caught it as she 
floated past him in all her magnificence. He bowed 
politely to her, but thought, ‘‘Can it be that smiling 
face can cover such a wicked heart?” and a feeling 
of repulsion and disgust came over him. 

“Is she not perfect ?” one of his acquaintances asked 
him, and he answered, “No!” 

“What does she lack then?” 

“Feeling,” Duke Lionel replied. “That woman 
lives only for herself.” 

Day after day, and night after night they had met 
thus, and he greeted her and avoided her thus, with 
that ceremonious courtesy which is chillier than any 
rudeness. 

Though she saw him continually, she yet saw noth- 
ing of him. It had been noticed by their friends and 
acquaintances that he treated her with aversion rather 
than homage. Yet in the high-bred serenity of his 
habitual manner, she could find neither censure nor 
insolence. He, the most popular, the most sought- 
after man in London, simply neglected her. Keener 
affront, harder offense, there could scarcely have been 
committed against her, nor could she take vengeance 
on him by mocking him or showing disdain for him. 
He was as far removed from her satire as he was 
from her seductions. There was that about him which 
hushed the vengeful ironies that rose in her heart 
and to her lips, although his studious avoidance of 
her most deeply incensed and mortified her. 


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A LADY OF FRANCE 


She in her heart knew why, and she feared him, 
while she courted his liking and favor. She could 
not endure to think that the world should see and 
know that the Duke of Erstmere treated her with con- 
tempt. She always managed to be in her sweetest 
mood when he was near. She gave to him her gayest 
wit, her airiest grace, her fairest smiles, and her most 
dazzling radiance. All in vain; not the coldest words 
of admiration ever passed his lips to her; he gave 
her a look from his calm, deep blue, meditative eyes, 
that seemed to tell her : 

“You must know what I think of a woman who 
could stoop so low.” 

Duke of Orloff and Lionel passed with the coldest 
of bows, never deigning to utter a word. Society 
looked on in silence, and wondered what could have 
come over the once such dear friends. 

Claudia was seldom seen; her grief for Candace, 
Lady Charlston, was sincere. But this night she at- 
tended the brilliant fete. Lionel, when he saw her 
coming towards him, advanced to meet her. With a 
smile he said: 

“Lady Claudia, I am delighted to see you; it is 
almost like finding a long-lost friend.” 

“Yes, I am afraid most of my friends have for- 
gotten that I exist.” 

“Not so bad as that, but we have missed you sorely. 
Will you give me this waltz?” She gave her con- 
sent; they wandered away to the ball-room, chatting 
and laughing, until they suddenly came face to face 
with Gerald and Marie. 

Claudia’s face flushed, a quiver of pain passed over 
the sweet mouth, then she greeted them both cordi- 
ally, but she noticed that Lionel only gave them the 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


m 


coldest glance and bow. She did not prolong the in- 
terview, and passing on, said: 

‘‘Pardon me, Duke Lionel, but are you not Gerald’s 
and Lady Marie’s friend?” 

“Hardly,” he replied, and by the frown that passed 
over his brow, she readily saw it was an unpleasant 
subject, and said no more. But all the time they were 
dancing, she wondered: 

“What can be the mater ? What can it be? Gerald 
and he were the very best of friends, and Marie always 
liked Lionel better than she liked any one. Can it 
be that he knows about Gerald and Candace?” She 
could come to no conclusion, so she put it out of her 
mind, and threw herself with abandonment into the 
pleasures of the waltz. 

The music was entrancing, Lionel danced perfectly. 
The very poetry of motion was in the sweet, dreamy 
measures of the waltz. The thoughts of both went 
to Candace, each longing and wishing that they might 
know her fate, and once again look upon the beauti- 
ful face. 

The dance finished, Lionel said to her, “Let us re- 
tire into the fernery.” 

They walked through the crowded ball-room, 
through the long and magnificent suite of rooms, 
through the conservatories, where lights gleamed from 
the midst of brilliant flowers, where the cool, green 
light was like a haven of rest. 

Some few of the guests were in the state-rooms, 
some young lovers lingered in the conservatories, but 
there was no one in the fernery. The fernery was 
one of the chief attractions of the place; the rocks 
were picturesque and beautiful, the ferns exquisite, 
the cool rippling of the falling waters added an un- 


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A LADY OF FRANCE 


told charm to the scene. The lights were reflected 
in the falling waters, so that it looked like a shower 
of bright diamonds. There was a sense of sweet, 
fragrant coolness that seemed to accord with the spirit 
of the place. 

“How quiet,” remarked Claudia. “I will soon 
begin to think there is much more pleasure in soli- 
tude than in a crowd.” 

“I asked you to come here,” said Lionel. “I want 
to speak to you of Lady Charlston.” There was a 
pretty seat just by the waterfall, and with a gentle 
touch he placed her upon it. 

“Now, Lady Claudia, what I wish to say, is this: 
Have you heard one word, as yet, from Lady Charls- 
ton ? Surely you, her dearest friend, she would trust — 
she must know that this suspense is dreadful.” 

“No,” replied Claudia, sadly, “not one word, not 
the faintest inkling; I am becoming almost alarmed.” 

“The long silence is strange, but yet she is thor- 
oughly sensible; I do not think that anything could 
have happened, but of late I have a strange, queer feel- 
ing about me, and it is this — something constantly 
urging me to go! to act! Now, Lady Claudia, what 
can it mean ? What could I do ? Where could I go ? — 
and if I did, what good would it all do? I cannot 
restore to her that she has lost, husband — and home.” 

“Duke Lionel, do you believe that Candace fled to 
save herself the humiliation of seeing another enter 
her home, and claim what by rights should be hers?” 
asked Claudia, looking up earnestly into Lionel’s face. 

Lionel gazed earnestly down into her own, and these 
words of Candace came to him, “Do not tell her; she 
loves him ; it would break her heart.” 

‘'Who can tell what serious trouble had come to 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


203 


her? I am sure, I for one, never for a moment al- 
lowed myself to judge of Lady Charlston’s actions; 
she is a peerless woman.” 

‘‘Indeed, she is,” added Claudia. “I can never tell 
to you, Duke Lionel, what a great, bitter sorrow it 
has been to me — I loved her dearly.” 

“I know you did,” he replied gravely, “but do not 
grieve ; I am sure you will some day hear from her — 
when she grows stronger, and conquers the battle 
within herself.” 

“But I am anxious about her,” answered Claudia. 
“Uncle Jasper has used every effort to find her, but 
all, so far, has been in vain.” 

After a time of pleasant, undisturbed quiet, they 
again made their way to the ball-room, where impa- 
tient partners claimed Claudia. Lionel with the great 
feeling of unrest about him could not endure the bril- 
liant throng, the smiling faces of men and women; 
he wanted to be alone to think. 

“Why do thoughts of Lady Charlston haunt me to- 
night?” He wandered out into the cool, quiet moon- 
lit grounds. 

Some few weeks later, Duke Lionel of Erstmere was 
sitting alone in his library at “Erstmere House” one 
evening about eleven o’clock, when Dr. Richards en- 
tered the room unannounced, and in great haste. 

Lionel sprang from his seat at the sound of the 
doctor’s agitated voice. With anxious, pale face he 
asked, “Is something wrong. Dr. Richards?” The 
thought struck him, “It must be something about Lady 
Charlston.” 

“I was sent here in behalf of the man who acts as 
your legal adviser. Lawyer Straunton.” 

“Straunton!” replied Lionel, “is he ill?” The sub- 
ject did not seem to interest him so much now. 

14 


204 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


‘‘No, not ill in the common acceptation of the term,” 
answered Dr. Richards; “he is dying, I fear.” 

“Dying? and yet not ill? You certainly speak in 
riddles, doctor.” 

“There was an accident.” 

“An accident?” 

“Yes; he was driving a team of spirited horses. It 
seems that they became unmanageable, when a cab, 
coming across the bridge, collided with him, knocking 
him out of the brougham. The wheels went over his 
chest, crushing him. At best, he can live only hours. 
Your Grace, he is dying, and has sent for you; he 
cannot die without seeing you; his body is crushed, 
but he seems to have mental pain, far more conflict- 
ing.” 

“I will go at once,” replied Lionel. 

The doctor and Duke Lionel quitted the room to- 
gether; the carriage was ordered, and they drove at 
once to the doctor’s home. Upon arriving there, they 
were ushered into the dying man’s presence. There 
he lay, pale and haggard, with crimson stained 
band upon his head and chest; the wild eyes, full 
of terror, glared upon them. 

“I am dying, they say,” gasped the low, hoarse 
voice. “I never feared any man, Duke Erstmere, 
but I am afraid to die.” Lionel did not know what 
to say. A woman in his place would have uttered the 
words the dying man wanted to hear — something of 
pardon, of hope, of mercy. Lionel looked nervously 
around the room, and murmured something about re- 
covery. 

“No,” said Lawyer Straunton, sorrowfully, “Dr. 
Richards tells me I cannot see the sunrise ; Duke Erst- 
mere, I want to speak to you, but not yet, there are 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


205 


others who must hear — I cannot die until it is re- 
paired.” 

Lionel and the doctor looked on in pity. They felt 
such sympathy and sorrow, to see a strong, manly fel- 
low stricken down so piteously. They heard some 
one enter the room softly. They looked up as the 
steps drew near; to their surprise it was a woman, 
who seemed in great nervous fear and dread. 

The doctor approached her, gently placed a chair 
for her, into which she almost fell. She did not speak 
or move, but to Lionel she looked like some one he 
had seen. 

Again the door opened softly, and to Lionel’s 
amazement, the Duke of Orloff entered, and ap- 
proached the bed; he looked bewilderingly at the 
quiet, veiled woman, who had as yet not spoken a 
word. As he glanced at her a second time, Lionel 
could see a look of absolute fear come into his eyes — 
a look he had never seen there before. He approached 
the dying man, and said in a low, strained voice, “How 
did it happen, Straunton? I am deeply grieved.” 

“It is all over with me,” replied the lawyer. “I am 
to die, and I am afraid to die; you are the cause of 
this fear. Yes, you, Duke of Orloff, it was you who 
tempted me! I could not go into eternity until I had 
made it right.” A great fear, such as they had never 
seen in man’s face before, came into Gerald’s; he 
looked in alarm at Lionel, at the doctor and the 
woman, who sat so silently, sobbing. 

Yes, sobbing; for as she heard the lawyer’s words 
to Gerald, her low, bitter sobs could be heard dis- 
tinctly. Then into the room came Magistrate Wright; 
he came to the bed-side, and solicitously asked, 
“Straunton. I have come; can I do something for 
you ?” 


206 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


“Yes, Wright, I am to die; I cannot die until the 
greatest wrong of my life is rectified — I will make it 
right, so help me Heaven, then it may be that God 
will forgive me. Now,” he urged, “come near, every 
one of you.” As Dr. Richards started to withdraw, 
he exclaimed: 

“You, too, Doctor.” He pointed to the woman, who 
still sat so silent. “Bring her.” 

Dr. Richards approached her. “Come; he is dying; 
you must listen.” 

“Oh, no no!” she murmurs, *'i will drop dead — I 
cannot bear — I will not !” 

“But you must!” returned Dr. Richards. “It is a 
dying man’s request — come !” And he took her gently 
by the arm, and led her near the bedside, and placed her 
in a low chair. 

“Raise your veil,” requested the dying man. “I am 
afraid to trust you, I want to see your face.” She 
slowly and reluctantly raised her veil. 

“Great God !” exclaimed Lionel, “it is Lady Marie — 
what can all this mean?” 

Now the pale, haggard, dying man turned his ago- 
nized face to the magistrate. 

“Listen: I will tell you why I cannot die until I 
have made a confession. I was always a good, con- 
scientious man, honored and respected by all; now I 
cannot respect myself. Yes, a good, honest man, until 
that man,” pointing to Duke of Orloff, “and that wo- 
man,” gazing at Marie, “tempted me; yes, almost 
forced me to do what I have done. I have never been 
happy one moment since. Their gold burned my fingers 
— was only a curse to me — still, I did not repent. Now, 
God has laid me so low at the very threshold of death ; 
it is my last opportunity to right a terrible wrong. He, 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


207 


Duke of Orloff,” and looking anxiously at the magis- 
trate, who is silently taking down his confession, ‘‘are 
you listening?’’ 

“Yes,” replied the magistrate, and the dying man 
continued: “He, the Duke of Orloff, loved Lady 
Charlston madly.” All eyes turned upon Gerald; he 
was pale as death himself. “It seems he was afraid or 
knew that with her vast wealth he could not win her, 
even after Sir Winton’s death. 

“She, Lady Marie Westhall, loved Sir Winton as 
madly. These two, it seems, had concocted plans in 
which to part them. Sir Winton and Lady Charlston — 
not caring it seems if they, husband and wife, loved 
each other dearly. But Heaven intervened in that case, 
as it is doing now. Sir Winton died. Lady Charlston 
was free, but rich and independent. Sir Winton hav- 
ing made a will and leaving the larger portion of his 
vast wealth and estate to his wife, except the entailed 
property direct. 

The Duke of Orloff knew of this will, as he was one 
of the witnesses ; the other witness being dead, he and 
this woman came to me, and offered me gold, yes, gold 
far beyond the amount that I had ever hoped to possess. 
At first I refused, but as they came again and again, 
they finally brought me to see it in their own way. 

“I consented; it has been a curse, a constant tor- 
ment. I never at first thought of the great wrong it 
would do Lady Charlston. I naturally supposed she 
would, at finding herself penniless, accept and marry 
the Duke, who seemed so confident of winning her love. 
Becoming Duchess of Orloff, she then would not suffer 
for what I had done. Imagine what I felt when I 
found that instead of becoming the Duchess of Orloff, 
she fled to escape his love and persecutions. 


208 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


“Oh, God!’’ he exclaimed, pressing his hand now 
over his cold, clammy brow, “it has made death ten 
thousand times more bitter. I could often imagine 
Sir Winton standing by my side, pleading with me, to 
make it right, to restore to his loved one what I had 
helped to take away. I put those pleadings aside; now, 
God has overtaken me in his wrath; I must make it 
right.” 

Duke Gerald regained his composure, and looking at 
the astonished faces around the bed, said : 

“Do not believe what he says ; he is crazy with pain ; 
he does not know what he is saying.” 

“Do I not? Well, then look! Here is the proof, 
your Grace ; I did not destroy the will as I promised — 
I could not.” Turning to Lionel, he handed him the 
papers. 

“Read, your Grace, you will see it is Sir Winton’s 
will. Ha, ha,” he laughed, looking at the Duke of 
Orloff, as he stood at last, crushed, and at bay. 

“You did not look for this ! Well, this is how I can 
make it right, and easy to die — restore to Lady Charls- 
ton what is rightfully hers, Duke Erstmere. Take 
them, and spare no effort in which to find Lady Charls- 
ton, and restore her property, her wealth. Tell her, 
in dying I humbly beg her pardon and forgiveness for 
the great wrong I did her. I know she will give it. She 
is noble and good, as she is beautiful. Tell her, your 
Grace, how I sinned and why. Two such wicked 
hearts as these,” looking at Gerald and Marie, “should 
not be shielded; I want the world to know our sin. 
I may save others from falling into sin, which is only 
a whip to lash us to torment and death.” Turning 
to Marie, he said, “I could almost curse you. You, 
with your beautiful face, won my consent, where his 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


209 


words and threats would have failed ; but now, I have 
righted the rong, I leave your punishment to God. It 
will surely come. You may go now,” he glanced at 
Gerald and Marie. “I want to die in peace.” 

Gerald went to Marie, who stopped her sobbing, but 
sat apparently insensible in her chair. He helped her 
to arise, placed the heavy cloak around her shoulders, 
and led her from the room, never once glancing at the 
dying man, whose gleaming eyes closely followed their 
every movement. 

After they were gone, he said to those who remained, 
as a moan of unutterable agony came from his white 
lips: 

‘‘I never thought of a future state, looking upon all 
religion as an old and idle superstition; and now, in 
a few hours, I must stand before Him whom I have 
persistently ignored, and answer for my sins; but I 
have righted the greatest one of all.” Then a blank 
despair seemed to settle upon his face. 

‘‘Can nothing be done?” asked Lionel of Dr. 
Richards. 

“No, nothing,” replied the doctor. 

“Then,” said Lionel, “we will withdraw, and leave 
him with his loved ones.” 

Let us cast a veil over the death-bed ; they who were 
present will never forget it. The man who had sinned, 
evidently at last made peace with his God. 


210 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


CHAPTER XXIV 

Duke Lionel Erstmere after returning home, sat in 
his study far into the morning. What he had seen 
and heard saddened him inexpressibly. To think of 
Lady Charlston bearing such bitter persecutions moved 
him. For Gerald and Marie he had the utmost con- 
tempt and loathing. 

” ‘‘They must have surely been mad — Gerald mad- 
dened by Lady Candace’s beautiful face and form, 
Marie maddened by jealousy — jealous of Lady Can- 
dace’s beauty — jealous because Winton loved her — ■ 
jealous because she was his loved wife.” As he 
thought of Candace, his very heart went out to her. 

“Oh, I love her,” he said, “even though that love 
can never be told to her; it is the sweetest thing in 
life to me. I would not give it for another in all 
the world.” He took up the will of Sir Winton that 
had been given into his keeping. He looked at it long 
and earnestly, then laid it aside. 

“Poor darling, you will at least get your rights. 
How I wish I knew where I might go and place these 
in your dear hands; they righted the wrong none too 
soon. Sir Frederick is certainly scattering Sir Win- 
ton’s fortune to the winds.” 

After forming his plans as to what he should do, 
he only waited the return of day to put them into ex- 
ecution; worn and weary, he retired for a few hours’ 
rest, before entering upon the duties that he had set 
before himself. 

In one of London’s leading society journals, there 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


211 


appeared two paragraphs of a startling nature, which 
awakened deep interest and excitement among all of 
its readers. One told of the latest literary acquisition, 
how all the elite literary societies of Paris were ring- 
ing with the brilliant success of the new writer in her 
latest book, ^‘Affaire-d’ Amour.” 

Mile. DeVille, her nom-de-plume, had already 
achieved great honors, and was fast becoming fa- 
mous. The shrewd reporters were keenly on the alert 
as to the identity of this famous and popular writer, 
who courted seclusion, but all their efforts were of no 
avail. Her true identity remained unknown. 

The second and even more startling paragraph was 
that telling of a scandal in high life, in which mem- 
bers of the Peerage had stooped to mingle in intrigue 
and crime. Simultaneously with the appearance of the 
newsy paragraphs in the society journals came a col- 
umn in one of the daily metropolitan sheets, with the 
startling news of Sir Winton Charlston’s will having 
been found, whereby he bequeathed the larger portion 
of his vast wealth to Lady Charlston, the remainder go- 
ing to the heir, Sir Frederick Charlston. 

The paragraphs were like electric shocks flashing 
through London. They were talked of and discussed 
from palace down to the hovel. All London felt that 
it must and would know who was implicated in the 
crime and intrigue; every ear was inclined to hear, 
every eye was on the alert and qui vive, to see who 
of London’s nobility was in disgrace. 

Would they, and they did, with all eyes now watch- 
ing, escape an open exposed The remainder of this 
story will tell. 

Duke Lionel of Erstmere, as he read these para- 
graphs, reflected, ‘Well, their sins have, indeed, found 


212 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


them out — how will the proud Lady Marie bear this? 
She will herself taste of the bitter cup that she was 
so willing to give to others/’ But the thought came, 
‘‘Do unto others as you would have others do unto 
you/’ Yes, it pays to be honorable, noble and true; 
and if we must reap as we have sown, it pays to sow 
the seed of goodness and kindness.” Then he reads 
of the new authoress, and he thought, “I must read 
for myself, if she is so brilliant.” 

He had begun to execute the plans formed with 
which to find Lady Charlston, and to restore to her 
her property. He had consulted keen, shrewd de- 
tectives; all the chief papers contained an advertise- 
ment, wherein Lady Charlston was entreated to return, 
or send address to Straunton and Knox, Sir Winton 
Charlston’s legal advisers, as there had been a terrible 
mistake; Sir Winton’s will having been found, re- 
stored to her the larger portion of his vast wealth and 
estate. 

“Now,” he pondered, “I have at least made an effort. 
I pray it may bring news of her; she will certainly 
now see the necessity of making her whereabouts 
known ; I can but wait the outcome.” 

As she read this paragraph, “A scandal in high life,” 
Lady Marie Westhall looked at the words in wild 
alarm. 

“Oh, Heavens! Oh, Heavens!” cried the voice so 
full of anguish — it was not like a human voice — “I 
am disgraced, ruined. Oh, it cannot be true!” she 
cried, throwing her white arms in the air. Such bit- 
ter tears, such bitter sobs ; then she grew more calm. 

“I would a thousand times rather die, than that the 
world should know that I, Lady Marie Westhall, had 
stooped to such miserable actions, to know that beau- 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


213 


tiful women, my rival queens, who have envied me — 
to know that they will sit in judgment upon me, to 
scoff at me and at my misfortune. To know they 
would laugh at me^ — ah, yes! it would be bitter as 
death; I cannot endure it.” Then her thoughts went 
to her mother. 

*Tt would break Mama’s heart. Duke of Orloff, I 
hate you!” she sobbed. “He is a greater villain than 
I thought any man could be.” Then she fell to her 
knees, and clasping her hands, tried to pray, but some- 
how she felt it was mockery. 

“Oh, Heaven, spare me, save me !” She sank lower 
and lower, still sobbing, “Spare me — oh, spare me, I 
have greater distress and anguish than woman has yet 
had to bear.” But while kneeling there in such aban- 
donment of grief, in her now crushed heart, never a 
thought of feeling or of pity came for Lady Candace 
or the wrong she had done her; she thought only of 
her own sufferings, and probable disgrace. 

After her grief and passion were spent, she arose. 
She almost tottered, she felt strangely weak and dazed. 
She began pacing up and down the room, the frown 
and perplexity deepening upon her face. She did not 
know what in the least to do. 

“It was a terrible mistake, and all through love. I 
would give my life to undo it.” As she thought of 
Candace, bitter hatred came in her heart. 

“It is a pity that she did not die before she came 
into my life, to mar and ruin it — yes, it was her beau- 
tiful face that caused it all ; how I hate her even now.” 
After hours of pondering and thought, she again be- 
came calm, and decided to battle fate, to defy the 
world, to put it all aside, to keep her place in the society 
whirl. 


214 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


“I will be strong and brave. I will conquer even 
yet — I will not be dethroned; I am society’s queen. 
I am sure to become Duchess of Laleham; who then 
can or dare molest me? I will claim the honors due 
me as Lady Marie Westhall — ^yes, Fate, I defy you.” 

As for the Duke of Orloff — if any man or woman 
lives foolish enough to think that wrongdoing is not 
punished in this world — they should have looked into 
the heart of that unhappy man. He had suffered more 
since Lawyer Straunton’s death than tongue could 
tell — his brain was on fire, his head was aching with 
almost intolerable anguish, his eyes felt like great coals 
of fire. He thought of Lady Charlston; he could see 
her as she stood in the picture gallery, her eyes blaz- 
ing with anger, as she pointed to the landing of the 
stairs and commanded : 

^*Go! Duke of Orloff — never speak to me again; I 
almost hate you — I will never look upon your wicked 
face again.” 

‘‘She has the sweetest, purest soul on earth, but she 
can never forgive me. Well, the world is wide, I will 
go, and in all probability I will never look upon her 
face again; but, oh, God, this I cannot leave, it will 
go with me everywhere — she was the innocent victim 
of my sins.” 

How many lost souls there were on his hands, he 
alone knew. His life of sin came before him; he re- 
coiled in horror, and shuddered as he thought : 

“How should I be handled if justice were done?” 
He, strong man that he was, felt that if he could not 
weep out some of the bitter anguish that filled his 
heart, he would die. 

The handsome Duke, whom all women had loved, 
the rich, popular Duke, whom all men had envied, was 
now crushed by the weight of his own folly. 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


216 


CHAPTER XXV 

Memory whipped him with scorpion whips. How 
small and paltry, how trifling all the reasons seemed 
to him now that he once thought all suflicient. For 
those who had flirted with him, who had met him half 
way in the terrible game of flirtation he felt no re- 
morse, no pity. 

The death-bed scene of the lawyer had humbled him ; 
it had made a great fear of God come over him. He 
indeed felt that the wrath of the Almighty was upon 
him. Alas, for his vile, miserable sins! Unable to 
bear the weight of his misery — unable to endure the 
sting of conscience, he flung himself down upon his 
knees, and the prayer of the publican rose from his 
lips. 

“Oh, God, be merciful to me, a sinner I” The most 
honored Duke, whose eyes had lured so many hearts 
away — the wealthy Duke, whose riches no man had 
counted, cried out in utter, abject sorrow, for the 
wrongs he had done. 

The pain and desolation in his heart grew so great, 
that drops of agony stood out upon his brow. No voice 
of pity or love came to comfort him in his bitter hour 
of grief. He was reaping as he had sown. 

The very next shocking piece of news that society in 
general had to discuss, was that of Duke of Orloff’s 
going abroad for an indefinite time. His great es- 
tates were placed in the hands of competent stewards, 
his town mansion was closed, and he had taken his 


216 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


farewell of his clubs, society and friends. He went, 
no one knew just where. 

When Claudia heard of his departure, and the part 
he played in secreting the will, a great mist came be- 
fore her eyes, and she feared lest she would die. 

For a few moments the whole world was chaos to 
her ; he was even more worthless than she had dreamed. 
A low, bitter cry came from her lips; she had not be- 
lieved it possible that she could suffer any more, but 
this was harder than all to bear ; she only awoke from 
the trance of pain to fall into a passion of tears and 
sobs; then she murmured after the storm of grief 
was past: 

“I knew he is a wicked man. But Heaven for- 
give me, I love him still. Yes, I loved him when 
I believed he was good and noble, when I thought 
he loved me. Now he is gone without even so much 
as a thought of me, yet I love him.” 

Looking up suddenly into the pictured face of the 
Divine Savior, hung upon the wall, she cried out : 

‘‘Many and many a poor sinner has knelt at those 
Divine feet. If he would but kneel and ask forgive- 
ness, if he but knew how willingly I would give my life 
for his, he would be sorry, and try to kneel — if he 
could but think that time is short and eternity is long.” 
She sat long and silently with her eyes fixed first upon 
the blue sky and then on the Divine face, her thoughts 
bent on but one thing; how could she persuade him 
to repent and be good? Then a sweet, half sad smile 
came over her face. 

“I know ! I will kneel for him, I know . God is 
good.” Unutterable love shone in the sweet face as 
she knelt and raised her eyes to the pictured face of 
the Savior. 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


217 


‘‘Dear Lord,” she whispered, “teach him that he is 
a miserable sinner, that the paths of sin mean suffer- 
ing and death; lead him into the paths of right. 
Amen.” 

As she knelt, the sunlight broke into the room in 
all its brightness, falling upon the picture with bright- 
est rays ; she smiled as she rose to her feet. 

“A good omen! God has heard, and will answer 
my prayer.” Insensibly, the nature of her love had 
changed; she no longer thought of him as her noble, 
handsome lover, but of one whom she had lost in this 
world, but wanted to see in Heaven. 

“Ah, me! men often give to crime the name of 
trifles, but a reckoning day is sure to come. 

“Poor darling Candace, no wonder, dear, something 
whispered to you to flee; I am sure you will return. 
How I long for you, dear sister.” 

Six months passed since the finding of Sir Winton’s 
will, six long, weary months to two waiting, anxious 
hearts — Duke Lionel and Lady Claudia. Lionel had 
made every effort to find her and restore to her the 
will, but his efforts were all in vain. Day after day 
he waited, and no news; the detectives were at a loss 
to know what to do. They began to feel that she must 
be dead, for said one: 

“If she were living, I am sure we could get some 
trace of her.” But Lionel would not give up the strug- 
gle, although he felt discouraged and hopeless. To the 
detective he said : 

“Do not give up. You must bring me news of 
her, either of her death, or if living, where we can 
find her. Remember, the world is wide, such things 
cannot be done in a day ; it may take years, yet it must 


218 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


be accomplished — money and brains ought to accom- 
pHsh wonders.’' Thus encouraged, the faithful men 
again started upon the chase, and scoured the four 
ends of the earth for one beautiful woman who so 
skilfully baffled all their efforts. 

Lady Marie Westhall, who was so dauntlessly de- 
fying fate, found that it was no easy matter. She 
bravely put rumor, gossip and all efforts to slander 
her aside. She appeared at balls, theatres and operas — 
everywhere, always arrayed beautifully, and smiling 
the smile of the happy. 

She dressed more elaborately than ever. But women 
began to stare at her coldly, men looked upon her with 
a look of pity and wonder; still, she held her queenly 
head higher ; she became more haughty, more proud. 

Her mother, noticing the strange manner and looks 
of every one, said one evening, after Duchess of Chan- 
dos’ ball: 

^‘Marie, what can be the matter? Every one, I im- 
agine, looks at you so strangely, and cold. I some- 
time imagine their look is one of contempt — will you 
tell me, dear, what it means?” 

‘^Nothing, Mama, you are imaginative — how would 
they dare ? I am Lady Marie Westhall !” 

‘‘Yes, my dear daughter, that I know, but I am sure 
there were strange looks cast at you ; and Duke of Lale- 
ham, even, seemed rather to shun you — Marie, I 
thought he loved you.” 

“So he does. Mama ; so there, let us have no more of 
this foolish talk; I tell you it is nothing.” Neverthe- 
less, the time came when Lady Westhall found there 
was more in her suspicions than she ever guessed. 

Marie, in her determination to bear all and con- 
quer all, brought upon herself snubs, scoffs and cold 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


219 


disdain. Society, seeing her bold affront, knowing 
full well what she had done, finally struck her from 
their list, ostracized her. She found to her horror in 
defying fate she had brought upon herself this punish- 
ment, the greatest the world knew for the proud Lady 
Marie. 

Duke of Laleham now never called. If he remem- 
bered he ever knew her, he did not show it; he was 
silent and cold towards her. She began to feel the bit- 
terness of her wrong-doing; the superb pride which 
had been her idol for so long had been stricken down, 
as a stately palm is stricken by lightning. Now it was 
broken and stilled by bitter shame and abject humili- 
ation that her misery had brought upon her, and she 
cried out : 

“I sinned for love, love is now having its vengeance. 
Yes, my love was great, but what is greater — great 
as eternity, is my remorse.^* She lay upon the couch, 
with arms outstretched, her face hidden in the soft pil- 
lows — she longed to bury her eyes from the search- 
ing light of day. She thought that never more could 
she go forth into the sunshine, and meet the eyes of 
men and women. Her past was branded; her present 
greatness that she boasted could never pass away 
was polluted and without worth. 

Her dignities, her possessions, and all her glories 
in which she had exulted, were now of no avaih Re- 
morse was now upon her; why had she sneered at 
Fate? Rising and pacing to and fro like a chained 
leopardness infuriated with its wounds, she said, “Lady 
Charlston’s beauty is the cause of all my sin. Had 
he never seen her, he would have loved me.’’ Clasp- 
ing her hands upon her heart, she continued, “Oh, 
Heaven, how I loved him. Yet all in vain, my love 


15 


220 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


only brought me sorrow — how I hated her beautiful 
face! Life, to her, was sweet and luscious, and ever 
pregnant with flavor like a paradise God-given; but 
to me, it grew hateful and bitter as worm-wood, and 
empty as ashes. 

I let my hatred lead me into sin and crime; a crime 
to the world, both hideous and unpardonable.” As 
she finished these railings at herself, a voice full of 
love and despair cried : 

‘‘Is it true! Oh, God, is it true?” and Marie, turn- 
ing, saw her mother fall prostrate upon the ground. 
Marie went swiftly to her, and sobbing loudly, laid 
her hand upon the dear head of her now insensible 
mother. 

“Oh, my God! if you had but let me die in my in- 
fancy!” She raised herself with a fierce gesture, and 
rang for the maid. Then she knelt to the floor, with 
hands clinched upon her mother’s wrist, and her dilated 
eyes gazing down into the face, so cold, so still, that 
it looked like death. 

The maid entered. “Quick, Lisbon, help place her 
upon the couch, and dispatch quickly for Dr. Arne, 
and bring restoratives.” 

Restoratives of every kind were brought, but they 
were all of no avail ; she remained cold and still. Marie 
was almost distracted ; by the time the doctor came, an 
awful pallor had settled upon the white face. He ex- 
amined her carefully, but his face looked grave. Marie, 
in great alarm, asked, “What is it, doctor?” The phy- 
sician shook his head gravely, and after a few mo- 
ments of silence, he aked: 

“Did she receive a shock — a severe shock of some 
kind?” 

“Yes,” replied Marie, weeping piteously, and as she 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


221 


remained so silent and still, Marie, in great alarm, 
asked : 

“Doctor, must she die?” Then the kind, old physi- 
cian told her that Lady Westhall was subject to serious 
heart disease, and the shock, whatever it was, had 
killed her. 

“Is she dead?” hoarsely asked Lady Marie. 

“Yes; she was quite gone when I came in,” he re- 
plied. 

She heard in unbroken silence, crouching under the 
throes of pain, a dumb, breathless terror upon her 
drooping face. 

“And I saw her die — die at my feet,” she muttered. 
The horror of it consumed her as with fire — ^fire where- 
in that staff of life, her pride, withered and fell in 
ashes, as a reed held in the flame. Lady Marie was 
carried into the nearest room, and laid upon the couch. 
Friends undertook all arrangements of the funeral 
which was in keeping with Lady Westhall’s station, 
solemn, but with magnificence. Lady Westhall was 
laid to rest in the family vault at “Baymere,” the West- 
hall country home, in Berkshire, where a great many 
happy days of her life had been spent. 

A few days later, the family lawyer said to Marie, 
“You will attend in the library, for the reading of the 
will. Lady Westhall.” Marie bowed her assent. The 
will was but a short one. The most faithful servants 
were remembered with handsome legacies, repaying 
them for their faithful service; every servant, in some 
way, was remembered. 

The beautiful estate at Baymere, the house in Lon- 
don, the money in funds, carriages, horses, jewels and 
plate, were all bequeathed to Lady Marie — her daugh- 
ter. It was all her own, to do with as she pleased, 
without any stipulations or conditions. 


222 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


'‘I must congratulate you, Lady WesthalV’ said the 
lawyer, when the will was read. Tears filled Lady 
Marie’s eyes. 

She remained at the country home, seeing no one, 
only the servants and a few friends who called. For 
Lady Marie, the time for her discipline had come. 

When she left London, she gave one long, linger- 
ing farewell look towards the beloved home. She 
saw it all in its glory and beauty, and she owned to 
herself that it was her own sin that darkened it and 
brought shadow there. The penalty she was to pay 
was to leave it and surrender all hope of earthly hap- 
piness. She bade farewell to no one. 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


223 


CHAPTER XXVI 

Wandering one day along the village street at Bay- 
mere, Lady Marie saw the hill upon which the church 
stood, and decided to visit. Never was an old church 
more picturesque and solemn appearing, with its square 
Norman towers and pictorial stained glass windows. 

Around one of the windows ran these words, ^‘Many 
sins were forgiven, because she loved much.” Lady 
Marie read and re-read those words, until they sank 
deep into her heart. Well nigh every day found her 
standing before the window, and so she came to know 
the Rev. Henry Laureston. 

He had noticed her frequent visits, and called upon 
her. He soon became a valued friend, and one day 
asked her why she lived here alone, and so lonely. 

She answered, ‘‘A great trouble came upon me; I 
can never forget it.” 

‘Ts it wise?” he asked, let this trouble darken 
your life? Is it wise to waste a life like yours in 
morbid brooding?” 

‘Tt is not wise, but I cannot help it.” Then he 
opened another world to her; he took her where the 
poor, the sick and the suffering led such lives as she 
had never dreamed of. 

When a year had passed. Lady Marie Westhall was 
a different woman ; her character ennobled and refined 
by suffering, her heart purified. She grew more con- 
tent, and in her beautiful face was a sweet look that 
she had not carried there in many years. She never 
heard of the outside world; she had no desire. 

Of Duke of Laleham she never heard; she did not 


224 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


even know where he was. Daily she was learning to 
trample self-love and pride under foot, but still on the 
beautiful face one could read sorrow and content, strug- 
gling with each other for mastery. 

^ Hi * * * 

Lionel, Duke of Erstmere, sat in his study read- 
ing. On his handsome face one could see written in- 
terest as he turned page after page ; his absorption grew 
momentarily deeper. His face often lighted up with 
a glow, then again a sigh, a deep drawn sigh, escaped 
his lips. 

Hour after hour he sat and poured over the book 
that was making all Paris rave; it told in such sweet, 
beautiful words — words that were sweetest music in 
themselves, of a woman loving with all her heart. Love 
was her whole world, and she was loved as women 
seldom are loved ; but sorrow came to mar this world 
of hers. 

Her loved one died and was taken to Heaven — then 
she forgot the world and developed her mind and soul. 
She lived in close touch with the Divine; she was 
led by inspiration ; she became more angel than woman. 
She portrayed all a good, beautiful woman can and 
should be; she delineated sorrow in its most bitter, 
heart-rending form. She told of a beautiful fiend in 
the form of a woman; of a dark man, handsome but 
wicked, and a demon. She told of a beautiful girl who 
was a ministering angel. 

She spoke in glowing terms of a man — handsome, 
noble and great; how he, while talking with this sor- 
rowful, persecuted woman, heard this beautiful fiend, 
and dark handsome demon, plotting against the inno- 
cent woman. Lionel, when he read this, rose to his 
feet, and suddenly dropped the book; for a moment 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


225 


he was dazed; then he gathered his scattered senses 
and exclaimed, “It is Candace, Lady Charlston, so help 
me Heaven ! Yes, Candace, for whom I have searched 
for almost two years unceasingly.” He took up the 
book and read again — “Yes, thank God, it is she, at 
last! I have a trace of you, my darling. It is the 
library scene at Charlston Place, the dark, handsome 
demon is Gerald, the beautiful fiend is Marie — it was 
I, talking to her ; how well I remember her that day — 
stricken to the very earth by their wickedness — I must 
go to her at once!” But after the joy of discover- 
ing that this famous authoress was Lady Charlston, 
came the realization of the difficulty of finding her. 

“She is unknown ; that I know, for I have read many 
times that all effort to discover the true identity of 
the writer was of no avail.” Then looking at the name 
of the publishers, an idea that made his heart leap 
with joy came to him. He was too restless now to 
read, he could not endure the quietness of the night; 
how he longed for the dawning of the day! 

Sleep ! The very word made him impatient ; he felt 
that he would never want to sleep or rest again. Then 
he thought : 

“It is indeed stranger than fiction — Lady Charlston, 
beautiful, penniless and persecuted, flies from home to 
escape intrigue; the ones who sin are bitterly pun- 
ished — she, with her bright intellect and divine in- 
spiration, wins for her both fame and fortune; sets 
all hearts in Paris to beating faster by her brilliant 
writing — her splendid delineation of character, her por- 
trayal of human woes, of human sufferings, of joy 
and happiness, that make every one better and nobler 
for the reading of them. 

There are moments in life, when life itself seems to 


226 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


stand still. He was in a fever of impatience. After 
hours of thoughts and plans as to his future move- 
ments, he lay down upon a couch, and closed his eyes 
for a few hours' rest; such a disturbed rest as it was. 
He dreamed of Lady Charlston, and saw her in all 
her brightness — of that beautiful face, with those deep, 
liquid, magnetic eyes, looking into his. How his very 
heart went out to her. Then he wakened from his 
pleasant dream to find that he was alone, and although 
his body had found repose, there was no rest for his 
soul — it was awake, he must satisfy it. 

Was it his desire to do justice, this restless, persist- 
ent longing to see her? No, it was love. 

The beautiful woods of Falkslands were in their 
grandest array ; it was again the month of roses. Never 
had the flowers looked prettier, nor been so fragrant; 
the trees — great, gigantic, lofty trees, were covered 
with dark, brilliant leaves, a scene fit for an artist's 
eye. A smiling June morning ; beneath the leafy, green 
boughs sat an artist in a gray tweed suit, with canvas 
upon the easel, a brush and palette in hand. 

He was quite still, evidently wrapped in a dream. 
Suddenly he turned and looked all about, then turned 
again and gave a few strokes to the picture. How 
it seemed to grow under his brush. It was a beautiful 
scene in the Falkland woods and Major Waring's castle 
standing in all of its imposing grandeur in the back- 
ground. 

Day after day, and week after week, had this poor, 
struggling artist spent in the shady woods; and how 
much had he accomplished in that time ? 

The artist mused for a little time, then he said to 
himself, ''At least Art ennobles all its followers, and 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


m 


you are certainly growing beautiful, my ‘‘Springtime/' 
under the strokes of my brush.” 

Later in the afternoon, he thought he heard soft 
footsteps on the velvety grass. He listened a mo- 
ment, but all was again silent; he went on painting. 
Then again he heard unmistakable footsteps, and felt 
the presence of some one near. He was on the point 
of rising and looking around, when a soft, musical 
voice directly behind him said: 

“Good afternoon, I have seen you here day after 
day, painting, and conclude your painting must be 
almost completed — I came to see, I am a great lover 
of art. 

Upon hearing that voice, he for a moment was ap- 
parently helpless — he wanted to rise, to speak, but 
could do neither. At last, regaining his composure, 
he arose, lifted his hat with a courtly air of a knight, 
and bowed low before her. 

“Yes, Lady Charlston, I am delighted with the re- 
sults.” 

Lady Charlston, for it was she, upon looking into 
the handsome face, spoke with both surprise and glad- 
ness mingled in her voice as she extended to him her 
hand. 

“Lord Belmount, can it be possible that it is you? 
You, whom of all I least expected to find me in my 
hiding place.” 

“Yes, Lady Charlston, it is I; I who have been in 
quest of you for two long, weary years, without avail. 
I employed the keenest, shrewdest men to search for 
you. They came and went, but always with the same 
answer; then I began reading the book that was set- 
ting all Paris wild ; I came to the scene that I knew oc- 
curred in the library at Charlston Place, and I realized 


22S 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


then and there the famous, popular authoress was none 
other than yourself, Lady Charlston. 

It was important that you should know of Sir Win- 
ton’s will being found, and left in my keeping to re- 
store to you. Even after reading your book, and 
knowing you were the writer, I knew also that your 
identity was unknown, that every effort to seek you 
out had been unsuccessful. Then I thought of this 
plan; of seeking your publishers, and telling them of 
the truth, why you must be found; that your affairs 
needed your attention, and then again. Lady Charls- 
ton, I wanted you to know Winton, your husband, had 
not neglected you; I could not bear that you should 
feel he loving you as he did had forgotten you in any 
one thing.” 

‘T never blamed him one moment, my heart always 
told me it was not true.” 

‘T had to struggle hard to discover, even then, your 
whereabouts,” continued Lionel. ^‘The publishers were 
firm and determined, but finally, I won the day. This 
much they told me, that you received all communica- 
tions through the name of Waring. Then this thought 
struck me, I would take this means of discovering 
you — that of posing as an artist; it would give me 
cause to stay near enough to see you, if you ever came 
from the house.” 

‘T had so often heard you speak of Major and Mrs. 
Waring at Lyons — in such glowing, loving terms — 
so I followed out my plans. I have sat here day 
after day, week after week ; but I felt sure that sooner 
or later I would reap my reward.” She smiled up 
into his face, and said naively: 

‘Why so much trouble, my Lord, when you could 
have communicated the news through my publishers ?” 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


229 


‘'So I could,” he answered, “but I promised a dying 
man to restore them to you myself ; and besides it has 
been a pleasure.” She bowed her thanks and replied : 

“You have indeed been to me a true and trusted 
friend, in the time of my affliction. I am proud of 
the fact. Lord Belmont.” 

This thought flashed through his mind: “She evi- 
denlty doesn’t know of my change of title; well, I 
shall not be the one to tell her — not now, at least.” 

“Come, Lord Belmont, you must return with me 
to Falklands. Major and Mrs. Waring will be de- 
lighted to see you.” 

“That honor I am compelled to refuse just at pres- 
ent,” looking down at his gray, artist suit, “but this 
evening I shall be pleased to do so, providing that you 
will extend the courtesy thus far.” 

“Certainly,” replied Candace, “we shall expect you. 
Now I must bid you good afternoon. I am sure you 
are anxious to be at your work again.” She gave 
him such a smile as almost to bewilder him. He 
smiled also. 

“No, I think not. Lady Charlston, my painting days 
are over, for at least a time.” Looking down into her 
deep dark eyes, he said: 

“My interest has vanished.” 

“But you must not spoil that beautiful scene. Lord 
Belmont; it is indeed the work of an artist. I did 
not know that you had that accomplishment.” 

“Did you not?” he answered. “Few do know it. 
I seldom have the opportunity to use it.” Then she 
laughingly took her leave. As she slowly walked to- 
ward the Waring mansion, he watched her. 

“Can it be possible she could ever love me? Could 
it be? It would crown my life with joy and happi- 
ness.” 


230 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


At eight o’clock that evening Lord Belmont was 
announced at the Waring mansion. Candace, with 
Major and Mrs. Waring received him cordially. Mrs. 
Waring, as she greeted him, in her own gracious, 
stately manner, thought he looked like a young prince. 

Major Waring at once made him feel that he was 
welcome then and at all times at their home. Can- 
dace, in a long, graceful black robe, was looking sweet 
and fair. Lionel thought she was far more beautiful 
than when she left England. Her face had not the 
brilliant, dazzling loveliness, but in its stead was a 
beauty so deep, so entrancing, as to make one wonder. 
Where was her loveliness? In the deep, liquid, dark 
laughing eyes ; in the lofty, noble, white brow, on which 
is written inspiration, love and intelligence, such as is 
seldom seen in woman’s face; or in the sweet, proud, 
sensitive, smiling lips? 

Her smile was as captivating as it was sweet, and 
as she smiled Duke Lionel a kindly welcome, he threw 
prudence to the winds, and resolved to himself : 

‘‘I will win her if it be possible, for I love her 
madly !” 

So the handsome, knightly Duke of Erstmere was 
in love ; the Duke, who all London said had no heart ; 
that while he was kind and noble and good, his heart 
as far as women were concerned, was like marble, cold. 

He had never been known to be in love, not even so 
much as a ‘'light love;” Major Waring, in his affable, 
French fashion, set to work at once to show to Lionel 
the high esteem and admiration he felt for him. He 
was at once so courteous and hospitably inclined 
towards him, that Lionel felt he had not for many 
days met such a true gentleman as this kind old chival- 
rous Frenchman. 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


231 


Many were the inquiries Candace made concerning 
her friends in England. ‘‘Dear old Charlston Place! 
Lord Belmount, tell me about it. How I long at times 
to once again see it,” she sighed. 

“Your home, Lady Charlston, is just as you left it; 
it is as beautiful as ever. You cannot, I think, find one 
change there. Lawyer Straunton had your servants 
remain, and keep everything in order ; we expected you 
to return at any time.” 

“Oh, I could not ; but let us not talk of it. Lord Bel- 
mont, it saddens me; now, I want to know of my 
friend and sister Claudia, is she well — is she happy?” 

“She is quite well, but as for her happiness, I cannot 
say; I should think, though, that she is content, if not 
quite happy. She would be enraptured to see you. Lady 
Charlston. You should let her hear from you ; she has 
grieved sorely for you.” 

“Oh, poor dear,” said Candace. “I will see if she 
cannot come to Falklands and make a visit.” Then 
after some time of conversation Major Waring, who 
was always urging Candace to sing at all times and in 
all places, asked her now. Candace wished to be ex- 
cused, but Mrs. Waring and Lionel kept urging. She 
at once went to the piano, Lionel following, to turn 
and arrange her music. Lionel thought she never be- 
fore sang so — yes, her voice was fuller and richer 
than when he last heard her. She sang one of the pret- 
tiest of English songs, “Good-bye, Sweetheart, Good- 
bye!” Sang it with such sweetness, such pathos, that 
her listeners were almost moved to tears. As the last 
words passed her lips she caught a glimpse of Lionel’s 
face. What did it express? She stopped suddenly, 
Lionel begging her for still another. 

“Not another word, Lord Belmont. I can sing no 


232 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


more.” No woman could have looked into his face 
then, unmoved. How she liked to see his face under 
the influence of great emotion, softened with tender- 
ness! 

Some instinct told her that she could never forget it 
as she saw it that moment ; that the memory of it would 
live with her when other things were dead. He at last 
took his departure; he said “good-night” to Candace, 
and in that “good-night” what was it that made her 
heart bound with newness of life, that stirred her heart 
to the very depths? 

“Was it love?” she asked herself. “Ah, no, it can- 
not be that ; my heart is dead.” 

Major and Mrs. Waring had bid Candace good-night 
also, but she lingered in the drawing-room. The even- 
ing was lovely, the air so soft and balmy, and she 
wanted to think. There she remained many hours 
alone, in a brown study of thought. 

“Ah, the dear old home,” she whispered. The home 
that she loved so well. How she longed to see the 
grand, old stately walls, the many favorite spots! As 
she sat thinking, she wondered if she had surrendered 
her power, her position, too easily — whether, had she 
remained, would it have been of any avail. 

Then her thoughts turned to the lawyer’s death-bed 
confession of Duke of Orloff and Lady Marie, and her 
noble heart went out to them with a feeling almost of 
pity. “I cannot hate them,” she murmured. “I dare 
not judge them, lest I also be judged.” 

It was long past midnight when she retired to rest, 
but satisfying and pleasant indeed had been her remin- 
escence of the pleasant and happy days when she was 
Sir Winton’s loved wife. 

She could almost imagine all the darkness and de- 



“Let me tell you, Lady Charlston, that in this moonlight you 
look like the goddess Hebe!” — Chap. XXVI, p. 233. 





A LADY OF FRANCE 


983 


spair that she had undergone as but a dream. Her 
heart felt light and young again — it seemed to rejoice 
in something, she hardly knew what. 

Three weeks passed since we found Duke Tionel 
posing as an artist in Falkland woods; nevertheless, he 
had not been idle; he still remained in France. Yet 
the picture, ‘^Springtime,” was still unfinished. 

Tonight he is at Major Waring’s; he and Candace 
are standing upon the broad, moonlit terrace. “This,” 
says Candace, “is my favorite spot; we often enjoy its 
beauties by moonlight.” 

“How beautiful this place is !” he exclaims. “I had 
often heard you and Sir Winton talk of ‘Falklands,’ 
but I had no idea it was so picturesque ; let me tell you, 
Lady Charlston, that in this moonlight you look like 
the goddess Hebe!” She laughed a sweet, tuneful 
laugh that stirred the blood in his veins. 

“Did the goddess flee from home and friends and re- 
main in seclusion for years?” 

“No, but she had the same grand contour of head 
and neck, the same clear, faultless outline of figure. 
Lady Charlston, your beauty is matchless.” 

“Lord Belmont, I have listened to your flattery be- 
fore,” she answers with a smile. Then he comes 
nearer to her and lays a hand upon her white arm, and 
in a low, earnest tone of voice, speaks. 

“Candace.” She starts at the sound of her name. 

“Do not be angry, dear ; but I have longed for days 
to tell you how I love you ; yes, darling, love you — how 
my heart and soul have left me and gone out to you, 
to become one with yours. Sweetheart, will you be- 
come my wife?” He draws near to her, speaking in 
low, subdued tones. 

“I know, dear, that you love me — you dare not look 


16 


384 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


into my eyes and tell me it is not true. You love me, 
and love is immortal.” She could not deny it; her 
eyes drooped and rested upon the flowers at her feet. 

‘‘You love me as I love you — raise your eyes, dar- 
ling, and say it — say, ‘Lionel, I love you.’ ” The very 
strength of his words and his love seem to extort the 
truth from her in spite of herself. In a low, sweet 
voice, she answers him : 

“I do not deny it — I love you, Lionel. He makes a 
quick step towards her and clasping her in his arms 
presses kiss after kiss upon the sweet lips. Holding 
her thus in his embrace, his lips meet hers with all the 
joy and sweetness of love. As she gazes lovingly up 
into his face and hears his murmured words of love, 
she stands silent ; but there is a sound in his voice that 
she has never heard there before. 

In his face she sees a marvelous light of love and 
tenderness that no eyes ever beheld on it. Her proud, 
beautiful head droops down upon his breast; she feels 
that she loves him with a vivid force — a reverential 
humility; yes, love — the fullest, sweetest her life had 
known. There is a moment’s silence; he watches the 
beautiful face of her, now his promised wife, and the 
white moonlight falls about them where they stand. 

“Candace,” he whispers, “what has made you so dif- 
ferent from all other women ? With all whom I have 
known, love is an affair of passion or amusement, of 
the world and the day; but yours gazes towards 
Heaven, and looks to find real utterance in the still- 
ness of Eternity. To be loved by you, dear, is worth 
suffering a century of sorrows.” 

She listens to him in silence, then she raises her 
head and replies : “There is but one thing I know of, 
that has the power to make life complete and happy, 
as God meant it to be, and the folly and weakness of 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


235 


men and women render it almost impossible for it to 
be, and that is love — love, pure and true; and with' 
such, Lionel, I love you.” He kisses the sweet face so 
near his own. For a second the awakened eyes look 
into his and filled them with reflected splendor; then 
he became aware of a warm arm thrown about his neck, 
and next — the stars grew dim, and a sense of life, al- 
most too great for mortal man to bear, took possession 
of his heart, as she laid her willing lips upon his own. 

They are returned to the drawing-room and Lionel 
is taking leave of Candace. Looking lovingly down 
into the beautiful face that has become so dear to him, 
he kisses the fair face, and places his arm gently around 
her. 

“I have one request to make, sweetheart; will you 
grant it?” 

‘T am sure I will, if I can, Lionel; what is it, dear?” 

‘Tt is this — when next I come, will you have laid 
aside these sombre robes?” 

Her lips quiver as she answers, have worn noth- 
ing but this,” with a pathetic glance down at the black 
robe. 

“Yes, darling, I know, and you do not reverence his 
memory more than I ; but listen — if it be possible that 
he can look down upon us from his eternal greatness 
he will bless our love.” 

“Yes, I know, Lionel, he looked upon you as all that 
was good and noble in man — yes, I am sure it would 
please him.” 

“Will you, then, for my sake Candace, put these 
aside?” 

“Yes, I will do anything in the world to please you — 
it shall be as you wish.” He thanks her, as he lov- 
ingly takes her in his arms, and bids her a tender 
“Good night.” 


236 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


CHAPTER XXVII 

In the late autumn, verging upon winter, London 
society is once more on the qui vive, once more rejoic- 
ing — rejoicing, as the fashion is, with laughter upon 
her lips, and war within her heart. The cause of all 
this flutter and tumult is the wedding of the Duke of 
Erstmere, and his return to London with his wife, Can- 
dace, now Duchess of Erstmere. 

Not only because she is Duchess of Erstmere is she 
the rage, the fashion; but because of her wide fame 
as authoress. That book captivated more hearts than 
the title of Duchess could ever have done ; innumerable 
crowds gather, rush and press headlong to gaze at her, 
and uncover their heads to her as though she were a 
sovereign. 

Lionel, amused and pleased at their greetings of her, 
looks on with pride; she, in her sweet humility and 
goodness, smiles and bows to the people as though they 
were every one dear to her. 

It was the custom of the Erstmeres to spend their 
honeymoons at home; they had never fallen into the 
habit of making themselves uncomfortable abroad ; the 
first Duke of Erstmere had done so and each Duke had 
followed this sensible example. Duke Lionel never 
thought of making any change of his ancestors' cus- 
toms. He and Candace had planned to go abroad when 
the autumn months had passed, but that was not yet. 
They would go home first, and when they had learned 
something what home-life would be together, then they 
would go abroad. 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


237 


They were warmly welcomed amid great rejoicings. 
Who can describe his love and pride at entering the 
magnificent house with Candace as his wife ; the serv- 
ants line the great entrance hall, and welcome them. 
Candace smiles and speaks kindly to all. They pass 
on into the magnificent drawing-room and Lionel takes 
Cadace in his arms and kisses the smiling face. 

^‘Welcome home, my darling wife. To me, this is 
the proudest day of my life.” 

‘‘But Lionel, why did you keep from me that you 
were now Duke of the great Erstmere estate?” 

“You called me Lord Belmont, and I concluded to 
remain so to you until we came home — then to surprise 
you — that is all, sweetheart.” 

“But I loved you just as well being Lord Lionel, as 
the Duke of Erstmere.” Then Lionel touches a bell 
and says, “I have still another surprise.” 

“What is it, Lionel?” she inquires, but while they 
are talking the door opens, and Jessica enters. She 
at once sees Candace, and cries out with joy: 

“Oh, oh, my Lady — my Lady Charlston, I am so 
pleased to see you.” 

Candace gives her a kindly greeting, and Lionel 
laughingly says, “But Jessica, she is now Duchess of 
Erstmere.” Whereupon Jessica is terribly confused, 
and humbly begs her grace’s pardon. 

“Very well, Jessica,” remarks Lionel, “now you 
may show your mistress to her rooms.” As Candace 
passes out, he says to her softly: 

“Don’t be long, darling.” In due time she returns, 
and finds him waiting for her. 

“How beautiful you are, Candace!” he exclaims, 
and indeed she is. She wears a dinner gown of deep, 
rich cream satin, trimmed in lace, a deep lace flounce, 


238 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


set upon the rich satin and falling in graceful folds 
to the length of the long train. With this rich lace 
was also a wreath of purple heartsease, and she wears 
a wreath of heartsease upon the golden hair; a dia- 
mond neckless completed this exquisite toilet. She goes 
up to him, and laying her white arms around his neck, 
says: 

‘‘Lionel, my husband, how can I ever thank you 
enough for your kindness and goodness to me? Had 
it not been for you I should still be alone and desolate, 
but you, dear, brought me out of the darkness of se- 
clusion, where I remained for six long years, brought 
me out into the bright sunshine of happiness, home and 
love. I worship you, my husband.'’ He draws the 
sweet face of his wife down to his own and says : 

“That is all I ask, my darling, your love." 

The door opens, the pompous footman announces: 
“Lady Claudia Vincent." 

“Another surprise, dear !" whispers Lionel. 

Candace quickly advances to meet and greet her 
lovingly. Claudia exclaims, “Oh, Candace, darling sis- 
ter, how can I express to you my joy and pleasure at 
once again seeing you ?" Looking at Lionel she shakes 
her head, smiles, and says naively : “Ah ! you sly fel- 
low," but extending her hand gracefully. “Allow me 
to congratulate you ; your wife is peerless, your Grace," 
whereupon Lionel bows his thanks, and says : 

“Your good wishes are keenly appreciated because 
they are, we know, sincere." Then Claudia says to 
Candace, as she lovingly kisses her, “My friend and 
sister, you have the noblest man I know for your hus- 
band. I do, indeed, wish you much happiness." 

Then after a time of pleasant conversation, dinner is 
announced. They dine in the grand saloon, which was 
magnificent with costly gold plate, lights and flowers. 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


S39 


Candace speaks to Lionel as he draws near to place 
her at the head of the table. “Such a sweet welcome, 
Lionel ! This is beautiful fairy-land.’’ While they eat 
dinner and make merry, the tiny scented fountains 
sparkle and splash, and make music. The bright, smil- 
ing faces of the two women, the proud, lovelit face 
of Duke Lionel, the sweet fragrant flowers, the soft 
mellow lights, form a picture of rare beauty. 


240 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


CHAPTER XXVIII 

‘Xionel/’ remarked Candace one day after they had 
been married some six or eight months: ^‘We are all 
so happy, yet the fact that Lady Marie is alone, for- 
saken and forgotten, is a thorn in my heart, a shadow 
on my otherwise complete happiness.” 

‘‘But listen, dear,” answer Lionel, “we cannot help 
what she has done — this she did of her own accord be- 
cause she hated you — my sweet wife.” 

“I know, Lionel, she sinned greatly.” Dropping her 
head low upon her bosom, she said, “But you know, 
dear, she sinned for love.” 

“Yes that is true; but she loved unwisely. You need 
not feel badly about it — you did not mete out her pun- 
ishment to her.” 

“I know Lionel,” she replied, “but listen, dear. You 
know I could help to make her happy — help at least 
to make her life bearable.” 

“But she hates you, Candace.” 

“Yes, I know ; she hates me because she wronged me. 
When she knows I have forgiven all, that hatred will 
vanish.” Lionel looked at her in utter amazement and 
unbelief. 

“Candace, darling, do you mean you can forgive — 
do you, dear ? I never could — how can you ? It was a 
a wicked, fiendish plot.” 

“Yes, I know, dear, but to be always forgiven, we 
must know how to forgive; and think, dearest, hus- 
band; I have everything. She is alone and unhappy. 
Come Lionel, say that I may go to her?” He looked 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


241 


earnestly at her for a time, then tenderly kissing the 
sweet, red lips, said: “You may always, darling, do 
just as you like. You have a nobler, better heart than 
I, for I could never forgive.’’ 

“But you must, Lionel; I am going myself to ask 
her here. When others know I have forgiven and for- 
gotten, they surely must do so. I am the one she 
wronged.” 

“It shall be as you say, dear; I can deny you noth- 
ing; how could I?” he answered laughing. 

Jje 

It was in the early spring-time. Baymere was in its 
gorgeous leaf and bloom. The fragrance of the flow- 
ers was sweet and perfumed the air. Lady Marie 
Westhall had donned a large garden hat and gone 
strolling among the flowers. A beautiful sight to see 
was her garden of flowers and roses ; flowers blooming 
in profusion everywhere. She strolled leisurely along 
the walk, until she came to a garden seat beneath a 
shady tree ; there she sat down, removed her hat, took 
up her book and began to read. 

She heard soft footsteps; she raised her eyes, and 
half arose, then put her hand before her face, appar- 
ently to shut out the view of the approaching vision. 
Candace, Duchess of Erstmere, was coming towards 
her in an elegant morning costume of cream broad- 
cloth, a white hat with a wreath of pink roses upon 
her proud, golden head. She saw Marie’s evident fear, 
and said gently : 

“Good morning. Lady Marie ; they told me you were 
here, and I came out to find you, this lovely morning, 
sentimentalizing among the bright flowers.” Still 
Marie kept her face buried in her hands. “Come, 
Marie, speak to me — all is forgiven. You sinned, dear 
16 


242 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


Marie, but I, whom you wronged, do now and forever 
forgive you, as I hope to be forgiven — as I hope for 
Heaven.” 

Bitter tears flowed down Lady Marie's face. Her 
whole soul wept out the last of wickedness of jealousy, 
of hatred, that would ever dwell in her heart. Can- 
dace remained silently by her side until the tempest of 
grief was past. Marie looked up and said, with a half 
sad smile: ‘^Your Grace, I cannot express to you my 
feelings, but this I will say: I sinned, I was wicked, 
I was tempted, I fell, but great as was the wrong I 
did you, greater, far greater have been my repentance 
and remorse — it has been bitter as death. I felt that 
I could never look upon your Grace's face again. But 
now that I know you whom I wronged have forgiven 
my sin I feel it is forgiven by God and blotted out — 
my heart and mind are once again free.'' Giving Can- 
dace both her extended hands, she arose and affirmed : 
‘^To you I owe my peace with God ; I bow in reverence 
before you.” 

‘‘No, no,” declared Candace, “it is past and gone; 
let us not talk of it ; come, tell me, dear Marie, of your- 
self, and how you spend your time here all alone.” 
They seated themselves side by side and Marie told 
her how she visited the sick and poor, and many other 
such things that made Candace's eyes look lovingly and 
tenderly upon her. 

“Now,” urged Marie, “tell me of yourself, your hap- 
piness, your husband, your home.” 

“I am happy, dear Marie; I worship my noble hus- 
band and home is my Heaven on earth. I have come 
today, dear, with Lionel's compliments and good 
wishes, to ask you to return with me to London. No 
refusing,” warned Candace, as Marie gave a faint mur- 
mur of objection. 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


243 


^^No, dear, you must come with me; you have lived 
in seclusion long enough, so come.” And Candace led 
her away towards the house. 

* * * 

At Garswood Hall one day, Claudia sat in her draw- 
ing-room, thinking of all that had passed — thinking of 
Candace and her bitter sorrow, and now of her happi- 
ness. Then her mind turned to Marie. How gracious 
was Candace’s act of forgiving her, and bringing her 
back into life, light and happiness ! And Gerald, where 
could he be? and she sighed deeply. Wrapped in such 
meditations she sat, when through the door came some 
one — a shadow fell upon the open book upon her lap. 
She looked around without rising, thinking it her Aunt 
Helen or Uncle Jasper; but whose face did she see be- 
side her, smiling down upon her, but Gerald, Duke of 
Orloff. 

“Oh, Gerald,” she cried, half frightened, half glad. 
“Can it be, is it really you?” 

“Yes, Claudia, it is I. You remember, dear,” he 
said sadly, “you told me if the time ever came when 
I wanted comfort, some one to trust, to come to you 
then — I have come, Claudia, I want you, dear, I love 
you ; yes, my darling, I love you. I have wandered and 
roamed almost the world over to forget every one and 
everything. All other things are passed and faded from 
mind and heart but love for you. Your gentleness, 
your forgiving spirit, your noble, loving heart hav6 
called me back — yes, back to you, but a wiser, better 
man.” He bent to kiss the sweet, tear-stained face. 

“To make my happiness complete, say that you still 
love me, that you forgive me and that you will become 
my wife.” She looked up into his face, and earnestly 
asked: “Are you quite sure, Gerald, dear, that it is 
I whom you love and I alone?” 


244 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


I?” he replied. ‘‘I know it; I have the assur- 
ance here!” and taking her white hand he placed it 
upon his heart. 

‘‘It beats for you alone, my darling; every other 
shadow has passed and gone.” 

“Thank Heaven!” she murmured, “my prayer is 
answered.” She gazed into his dark, handsome face, 
and all the old love for him came back. She gently 
placed both hands in his and leaning her head against 
his breast, whispered: 

“Yes, Gerald, I love you still; I will become your 
wife.” He bowed and kissed the lips that he at last 
learned to love so well. 

“Now, darling,” he asked after a time, and when 
they had talked of everything dear to them both, “when 
will you come to me ? Hazelmere wants its mistress, I 
want my wife — say soon, darling ; I am lonely without 
you.” 

Soon after Gerald’s return occurred the marriage of 
Duke of Orloff to Lady Claudia Vincent. The Duke 
and Duchess of Orloff were to spend one year abroad. 

“Happy is the bride the sun shines on.” It welcomed 
Claudia with its most radiant beams. As the sweet, 
solemn words were uttered that made her the wife of 
the man she loved, her lips smiled with joy, her eyes 
glowed with contentment. 

That which made the happiness of Gerald and Clau- 
dia complete was the presence of Candace and Lionel 
at their wedding, to bid them “God-speed.” 

sk * * * i|c jje 4t 

Lady Marie Westhall is each day growing into a 
braver and nobler woman; she is winning the love of 
all who know her by her goodness. She and the Duch- 
ess of Erstmere are excellent friends. It is rumored 


A LADY OF FRANCE 


345 


that in the near future she will become Lady Marie Bel- 
lairs, as Lord Gordon Bellairs, member of the Queen’s 
Guards, is much taken up with her; with sweet, gra- 
cious humility, in an unassuming, gentle manner, she 
accepts his tenders of admiration. 

Two years and more have passed since Candace be- 
came ‘‘Duchess of Erstmere beautiful as ever, she is 
idolized by her noble husband. In one of the splendid 
rooms of the Duchess’ suite, on the eastern wing of 
Verdun Castle, stands Lionel, looking with a rever- 
ential love down into a white, silken lined, lace draped 
basket, at a sleeping baby boy — the little heir of Erst- 
mere. With pride and love glowing in his patrician 
face he turns to Candace, who lies upon the white pil- 
lows of the richly covered bed. He kneels at her side 
and kisses her sweet face and whispers : 

“Darling, you are the angel of my life; I am proud 
of my love, and our little son and heir.” She lays her 
arm around his neck, and murmurs, “Lionel, dear, I 
want to call him Winton — Winton Belmont Erstmere; 
may I?” 

“Yes, Candace; no name could you give him that 
would please me better. I reverence his memory as 
much as yourself, dear. Yes, we will call our little son 
Winton ; the name will be an honor to our boy.” And 
so we leave them blest; peace and sunshine reigning 
supreme. 


FINIS. 



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